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THE 


CHRISTMAS   WRECK 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 


FRANK    R.  STOCKTON 


1  J 


5  i    .         ) 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1910 


Copyright,  1886.  by 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS. 


r 


CONTENTS. 


STC>C- 


PAGE 

The  Christmas  Wreck 1 

A  Story  of  Assisted  Fate.     (In  two  parts)        e        .  23 

Ax  Unhistoric  Page 66 

A  Tale  of  Negative  Gravity 79 

The  Cloverfields  Carriage Ill 

The  Remarkable  Wreck  of  the  "  Thomas  Hyke,"  133 

My  Bull-Calf 162 

The  Discourager  of  Hesitancy 186 

A  Borrowed  Month.     (East  and  West)        .        .        .196 

u 


THE  CHRISTMAS  WRECK. 


''  VTTELL,  sir,*'  said  old  Silas,  as  he  gave  a  prelimi- 
V  V  nary  puff  to  the  pipe  he  had  just  lighted,  aud 
so  satisfied  himself  that  the  draught  was  all  right,  "  the 
wind's  a  corain',  an'  so's  Christmas.  But  it's  no  use 
bein'  in  a  hurry  fur  either  of  'em,  fur  sometimes  they 
come  afore  you  want  'em,  anyway." 

Silas  was  sitting  in  the  stern  of  a  small  sailing-boat 
which  he  owned,  and  in  which  he  sometimes  took  the 
Saudport  visitors  out  for  a  sail ;  and  at  other  times 
applied  to  its  more  legitimate,  but  less  profitable  use, 
that  of  fishing.  That  afternoon  he  had  taken  young 
Mr.  Nugent  for  a  brief  excursion  on  that  portion  of 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  which  sends  its  breakers  up  on  the 
beach  of  Sandport.  But  he  had  found  it  difficult, 
nay,  impossible  just  now,  to  bring  him  back,  for  the 
wind  had  gradually  died  away  until  there  was  not  a 
breath  of  it  left.  Mr.  Nugent,  to  whom  nautical  ex- 
periences were  as  new  as  the  very  nautical  suit  of 
blue  flannel  which  he  wore,  rather  liked  the  calm ;  it 
was  such  a  relief  to  the  monotony  of  rolling  waves. 
He  took  out  a  cigar  and  lighted  it,  and  then  he  re- 
marked : 

1 


^:  ;•':  .'':',/  '''T'i^E\  chrjstmas  wreck. 

"I  can  easil}^  imagine  how  a  wind  might  come  be- 
fore you  sailors  might  want  it,  but  I  don't  see  how 
Christmas  could  come  too  soon." 

"It  come  wunst  on  me  when  things  couldn't  a 
looked  more  onready  fur  it,"  said  Silas. 

"How  was  that?"  asked  Mr.  Nugent,  settling 
himself  a  little  more  comfortably  on  the  hard  thwart. 
"  If  it's  a  story,  let's  have  it.  This  is  a  good  time  to 
spin  a  yarn." 

"  Very  well,"  said  old  Silas.     "  I'll  spin  her." 

The  bare-legged  bo}',  whose  duty  it  was  to  stay 
forward  and  mind  the  jib,  came  aft  as  soon  as  he 
smelt  a  story,  and  took  a  nautical  position  which  was 
duly  studied  by  Mr.  Nugent,  on  a  bag  of  ballast  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"It's  nigh  on  to  fifteen  year  ago,"  said  Silas, 
"that  I  was  on  the  barque,  'Mary  Auguster,'  bound 
for  Sydney,  New  South  Wales,  with  a  cargo  of  canned 
goods.  We  was  somewhere  about  longitood  a  hun- 
dred an'  seventy,  latitood  nothin',  an'  it  was  the 
twenty-second  o'  December,  when  we  was  ketched 
by  a  reg'lar  typhoon  which  blew  straight  along,  end 
on,  fur  a  day  an'  a  half.  It  blew  away  the  storm 
sails ;  it  blew  away  every  3'ard,  spar,  shroud,  an' 
every  strand  o'  riggin',  an'  snapped  the  masts  off, 
close  to  the  deck  ;  it  blew  away  all  the  boats  ;  it  blew 
away  the  cook's  caboose,  an'  every  thing  else  on  deck  ; 
it  blew  off  the  hatches,  an'  sent  'em  spinnin'  in  the  air, 
about  a  mile  to  leeward ;  an'  afore  it  got  through,  it 
washed  away  the  cap'n  an'  all  the  crew  'cept  me  an' 
two  others.     These  was  Tom   Simmons,  the   second 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  3 

mate,  an'  Andy  Boyle,  a  chap  from  the  Andirondack 
Mountins,  who'd  never  been  to  sea  afore.  As  he 
was  a  landsman  he  ought,  by  rights,  to  a  been  swep' 
off  by  the  wind  an'  water,  consid'rin'  that  the  cap'n 
an'  sixteen  good  seamen  had  gone  a 'ready.  But  he 
had  hands  eleven  inches  long,  an'  that  give  him  a  grip 
which  no  typhoon  could  git  the  better  of.  Andy  had 
let  out  that  his  father  was  a  miller  up  there  in  York 
State,  an'  a  story  had  got  round  among  the  crew  that 
his  gran 'father  an'  great  gran 'father  was  millers  too ; 
an'  the  way  the  fam'ly  got  such  big  hands  come  from 
their  habit  of  scoopin'  up  a  extry  quart  or  two  of 
meal  or  flour  for  themselves  when  they  was  levelin' 
off  their  customers'  measures.  He  was  a  good-natered 
feller,  though,  an'  never  got  riled  when  I'd  tell  him  to 
clap  his  flour-scoops  outer  a  halyard. 

"  We  was  all  soaked,  an'  washed,  an'  beat,  an*  bat- 
tered. We  held  on  some  way  or  other  till  the  wind 
blowed  itself  out,  an'  then  we  got  on  our  legs  an*  be- 
gan to  look  about  us  to  see  how  things  stood.  The 
sea  had  washed  into  the  open  hatches  till  the  vessel 
was  more'n  half  full  of  water,  an'  that  had  sunk  her 
so  deep  that  she  must  'a  looked  like  a  canal  boat  load- 
ed with  gravel.  We  hadn't  had  a  thing  to  eat  or  drink 
durin'  that  whole  blow,  an'  we  was  pretty  ravenous. 
We  found  a  keg  of  water  which  was  all  right,  and  a 
box  of  biscuit,  which  was  what  you  might  call  soft 
tack,  for  they  was  soaked  through  and  through  with 
sea-water.  We  eat  a  lot  of  them  so,  fur  we  couldn't 
wait,  an'  the  rest  we  spread  on  the  deck  to  dry,  fur  the 
sun  was  now  shinin'  hot  enough  to  bake  bread.     We 


4  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

couldn't  go  below  much,  fur  there  was  a  pretty  good 
swell  on  the  sea,  and  things  was  floatin'  about  so's  to 
make  it  dangerous.  But  we  fished  out  a  piece  of  can- 
vas, which  we  rigged  up  agin  the  stump  of  the  main- 
mast so  that  we  could  have  somethin'  that  we  could  sit 
down  an'  grumble  under.  What  struck  us  all  the 
hardest  was  that  the  barque  was  loaded  with  a  whole 
cargo  of  jolly  things  to  eat,  which  was  just  as  good  as 
ever  they  was,  fur  the  water  couldn't  git  through  the 
tin  cans  in  which  they  was  all  put  up  ;  an'  here  we  was 
with  nothin'  to  live  on  but  them  salted  biscuit.  There 
was  no  way  of  gittin'  at  any  of  the  ship's  stores,  or  any 
of  the  fancy  prog,  fur  everythin'  was  stowed  away 
tight  under  six  or  seven  feet  of  water,  an'  pretty  nigh 
all  the  room  that  was  left  between  decks  was  filled  up 
with  extry  spars,  lumber,  boxes,  an'  other  floatin'  stuff. 
All  was  shiftin',  an'  bumpin',  an'  bangin'  every  time 
the  vessel  rolled. 

*'  As  I  said  afore,  Tom  was  second  mate,  an'  I  was 
bosen.  Says  I  to  Tom,  '  the  thing  we've  got  to  do  is 
to  put  up  some  kind  of  a  spar  with  a  rag  on  it  for  a 
distress  flag,  so  that  we'll  lose  no  time  bein'  took  off.' 
'^There's  no  use  a  slavin'  at  anythin'  like  that,'  says 
Tom,  '  fur  we've  been  blowed  off  the  track  of  traders, 
an'  the  more  we  work  the  hungrier  we'll  git,  an'  the 
sooner  will  them  biscuit  be  gone.' 

"Now  when  I  heerd  Tom  say  this  I  sot  still,  and 
began  to  consider.  Being  second  mate,  Tom  was,  by 
rights,  in  command  of  this  craft;  but  it  was  easy 
enough  to  see  that  if  he  commanded  there'd  never  be 
nothin'  for  Andy  an'  me  to  do.     All  the  grit  he  had  in 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  5 

him  he'd  used  up  iu  holdiu'  on  durin'  that  typhoon. 
What  he  wanted  to  do  now  was  to  make  himself  com- 
fortable till  the  time  come  for  him  to  go  to  Davy 
Jones's  Locker;  an'  thinkin',  most  likely,  that  Davy 
couldn't  make  it  any  hotter  fur  him  than  it  was  on  that 
deck,  still  in  latitood  nothin'  at  all,  fur  we'd  been 
blowed  along  the  line  pretty  nigh  due  West.  So  I 
calls  to  Andy,  who  was  busy  turnin'  over  the  biscuits 
on  the  deck.  '  Andy,'  says  I,  when  he  had  got  under 
the  canvas,  '  we's  goin'  to  have  a  'lection  fur  skipper. 
Tom  here  is  about  played  out.  He's  one  candydate, 
an'  I'm  another.  Now,  who  do  you  vote  fur?  An  , 
mind  yer  eye,  youngster,  that  you  don't  make  no 
mistake.'  'I  vote  fur  you,'  says  Andy.  '  Camed 
unanermous  ! '  says  I.  '  An'  I  want  you  to  take  notice 
that  I'm  cap'n  of  what's  left  of  the  *'  Mary  Auguster," 
an'  you  two  has  got  to  keep  your  minds  on  that,  an' 
obey  orders.'  If  Davy  Jones  was  to  do  all  that  Tom 
be  Simmons  said  when  he  heard  this,  the  old  chap  would 
kept  busier  than  he  ever  was  yit.  But  I  let  him  growl 
his  growl  out,  knowin'  he'd  come  round  all  right,  fur 
there  wasn't  no  help  fur  it,  consid'rin'  Andy  an'  me 
was  two  to  his  one.  Pi'etty  soon  we  all  went  to  work, 
an'  got  up  a  spar  from  below  which  we  rigged  to  the 
stump  of  the  foremast,  with  Andy's  shirt  atop  of  it. 
■"^''Them  sea-soaked,  sun-dried  biscuit  was  pretty 
mean  prog,  as  you  might  think,  but  we  eat  so  many 
of  'em  that  afternoon  an'  'cordingly  drank  so  much 
water  that  I  was  obliged  to  put  us  all  on  short  rations 
the  next  day.  'This  is  the  day  before  Christmas,' 
says  Andy  Boyle,  '  an'  to-night  will  be  Chiistmas  Eve, 


6  THE  CHRISTMAS    WRECK, 

an'  it's  pretty  tough  fur  us  to  be  sittin'  here  with  not 
even  so  much  hard  tack  as  we  want,  an'  all  the  time 
thinkin'  that  the  hold  of  this  ship  is  packed  full  of  the 
gaj'est  kind  of  good  things  to  eat.'  *■  Shut  up  about 
Christmas  ! '  says  Tom  Simmons.  '  Them  two  young- 
sters of  mine,  up  in  Bangor,  is  havin'  their  toes  and 
noses  pretty  nigh  froze,  I  'spect,  but  they'll  hang  up 
their  stockin's  all  the  same  to-night,  never  thinkin' 
that  their  dad's  beln'  cooked  alive  on  a  empty  stom- 
ach.' 'Of  course  they  wouldn't  hang  'em  up,'  says 
I,  '  if  they  knowed  what  a  fix  you  was  in,  but  they 
don't  know  it,  an'  what's  the  use  of  grumblin'  at  'em 
for  bein'  a  little  jolly.*  'Well,'  says  And}^  'they 
couldn't  be  more  jollier  than  I'd  be  if  I  could  git  at 
some  of  them  fancy  fixin's  down  in  the  hold.  I  worked 
well  on  to  a  week  at  'Frisco  puttin*  in  them  boxes,  an' 
the  names  of  the  things  was  on  the  outside  of  most  of 
'em,  an'  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  mates,  it  made  my  mouth 
water,  even  then,  to  read  'em,  an'  I  wasn't  hungry 
nuther,  havin'  plenty  to  eat  three  times  a  day.  There 
was  roast  beef,  an'  roast  mutton,  an'  duck,  an'  chick- 
en, an'  soup,  an  peas,  an*  beans,  an'  tennaters,  an' 

plum-puddin',   an'  mince-pie '       'Shut   up   with 

your  mince-pie  !  *  sung  out  Tom  Simmons.  '  Isn't  it 
enough  to  have  to  gnaw  on  these  salt  chips,  without 
heariu*  about  mince-pie?*  'An'  more'n  that,'  says 
Andy,  '  there  was  canned  peaches,  an'  pears,  an' 
plums,  an'  cherries.* 

"  Now  these  things  did  sound  so  cool  an'  good  to 
me  on  that  broilin'  deck,  that  I  couldn't  stand  it,  an' 
I  leans  over  to  Andy,  an'  I  says :  ''  Now  look  a  here, 


THE  CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  7 

if  3'ou  don't  shut  up  talkin'  about  them  things  what's 
stowed  below,  an'  what  we  can't  git  at,  nohow,  over- 
board you  go  ! '  'That  would  make  you  short-handed.' 
says  Andy,  with  a  grin.  '  Which  is  more'n  you  could 
say,'  says  I,  '  if  you'd  chuck  Tom  an'  me  over  '  —  al- 
ludin'  to  his  eleven-inch  grip.  Andy  didn't  say  no 
more  then,  but  after  a  while  he  comes  to  me  as  I  was 
lookin'  round  to  see  if  anything  was  in  sight,  an'  says 
he,  'I  s'pose  you  ain't  got  nuthiu'  to  say  agin  my 
divin'  into  the  hold  just  aft  of  the  foremast,  where 
there  seems  to  be  a  bit  of  pretty  clear  water,  an'  see 
if  I  can't  git  up  something?  '  '  You  kin  do  it,  if  you 
like,'  says  I,  '  but  it's  at  your  own  risk.  You  can't 
take  out  no  insurance  at  this  office.'  '  All  right  then,' 
says  Andy,  'an'  if  I  git  stove  in  by  floatin'  boxes,  you 
an'  Tom'll  have  to  eat  the  rest  of  them  salt  crackers.' 
'  Now,  boy,'  says  I  —  an*  he  wasn't  much  more,  bein' 
only  nineteen  year  old  —  'you'd  better  keep  out  o'  that 
hold.  You'll  just  git  yourself  smashed.  An'  as  to 
movin'  any  of  them  there  heavy  boxes,  which  must  be 
swelled  up  as  tight  as  if  they  was  part  of  the  ship,  you 
might  as  well  try  to  pull  out  one  of  the  "  Mary  Augus- 
ter's  "  ribs.'  'I'll  try  it,'  says  Andy,  'fur  to-morrer  is 
Christmas,  an'  if  I  kin  help  it  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  floatin' 
atop  of  a  Christmas  dinner  without  eatin'  any  on  it.'  I 
let  him  go,  fur  he  was  a  good  swimmer  and  diver,  an' 
I  did  hope  he  might  root  out  somethin'  or  other,  fur 
Christmas  is  about  the  worst  day  in  the  year  fur  meu 
to  be  starvin'  on,  and  that's  what  we  was  a  comin'  to. 
"Well,  fur  about  two  hours  Andy  swum,  an'  dove, 
an'  come  up  blubberin',  an'  dodged  all  sorts  of  floatin' 


8  THE  CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

an'  pitchin'  stuff,  fur  the  swell  was  still  on  ;  but  he 
couldn't  even  be  so  much  as  sartain  that  he'd  found  the 
canned  vittles.  .  To  dive  down  through  hatchways, 
an'  among  broken  bulkheads,  to  hunt  fur  any  partiklar 
kind  o'  boxes  under  seven  feet  of  sea-water,  ain't  no 
easy  job ;  an'  though  Andy  says  he  got  hold  of  the 
end  of  a  box  that  felt  to  him  like  the  big  'uns  he'd 
noticed  as  havin'  the  meat  pies  in,  he  couldn't  move 
it  no  more'n  if  it  had  been  the  stump  of  the  foremast. 
If  we  could  have  pumped  the  water  out  of  the  hold  we 
could  have  got  at  any  part  of  the  cargo  we  wanted, 
but  as  it  was,  we  couldn't  even  reach  the  ship's  stores, 
which,  of  course,  must  have  been  mostly  spiled  any- 
way ;  whereas  the  canned  vittles  was  just  as  good  as 
new.  The  pumps  was  all  smashed,  or  stopped  up,  for 
we  tried  'em,  but  if  they  hadn't  a  been  we  three 
couldn't  never  have  pumped  out  that  ship  on  three 
biscuit  a  day,  and  only  about  two  days'  rations  at  that. 
"  So  Andy  he  come  up,  so  fagged  out  that  it  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  get  his  clothes  on,  though  they 
wasn't  much,  an'  then  he  stretched  himself  out  under 
the  canvas  an'  went  to  sleep,  an'  it  wasn't  long  afore 
he  was  talkin'  about  roast  turkey  an'  cranberry  sass, 
an'  punkin  pie,  an'  sech  stuff,  most  of  which  we  knowed 
was  under  our  feet  that  present  minute.  Tom  Simmons 
he  just  b'iled  over,  an'  sung  out :  '  Roll  him  out  in  the 
sun  and  let  him  cook !  I  can't  stand  no  more  of  this ! ' 
But  I  wasn't  goin'  to  have  Andy  treated  no  sech  way 
as  that,  fur  if  it  hadn't  been  fur  Tom  Simmons'  wife 
an'  young  uns,  Andy'd  been  worth  two  of  him  to  any- 
body who  was  consid'rin'  savin'  life.     But  I  give  the 


THE    CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  9 

boy  a  good  punch  in  the  ribs  to  stop  his  dreamin',  fur 
I  was  as  hungry  as  Tom  was,  and  couldn't  stand  no 
nonsense  about  Christmas  dinners. 

"  It  was  a  little  arter  noon  when  Andy  woke  up, 
an'  he  went  outside  to  stretch  himself.  In  about  a 
minute  he  give  a  yell  that  made  Tom  and  me  jump. 
'  A  sail ! '  he  hollered,  '  a  sail ! '  An'  you  may  bet 
your  life,  young  man,  that  'twasn't  more'n  half  a 
second  before  us  two  had  scuffled  out  from  under  that 
canvas,  an'  was  standin'  by  Andy.  '  There  she  is  !  * 
he  shouted,  '  not  a  mile  to  win'ard.'  I  give  one  look, 
an'  then  I  sings  out :  '  Tain't  a  sail !  It's  a  flag  of 
distress  !  Can't  you  see,  you  laud-lubber,  that  that's 
the  stars  and  stripes  upside  down? '  '  Why,  so  it  is,' 
said  Andy,  with  a  couple  of  reefs  in  the  joyfulness  of 
his  voice.  An'  Tom,  he  began  to  growl  as  if  some- 
body had  cheated  him  out  of  half  a  year's  wages. 

' '  The  flag  that  we  saw  was  on  the  hull  of  a  steamer 
that  had  been  driftin'  down  on  us  while  we  was  sittin' 
under  our  canvas.  It  was  plain  to  see  she'd  been 
caught  in  the  typhoon  too,  fur  there  wasn't  a  mast  or 
a  smoke  stack  on  her ;  but  her  hull  was  high  enough 
out  of  the  water  to  catch  what  wind  there  was,  while 
we  was  so  low-sunk  that  we  didn't  make  no  way  at  all. 
There  was  people  aboard,  and  they  saw  us,  an'  waved 
their  hats  an'  arms,  an'  Andy  an'  me  waved  ours,  but 
all  we  could  do  was  to  wait  till  they  drifted  nearer,  fur 
we  hadn't  no  boats  to  go  to  'em  if  we'd  a  wanted  to. 

"  '  I'd  like  to  know  what  good  that  old  hulk  is  to 
us,*  said  Tom  Simmons.  '  She  can't  take  us  off.'  It 
did  look  to  me  somethin'  like  the  blind  leadin'  the 


10  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

blind ;  but  Andy  he  sings  out :  '  We'd  be  better  oft 
aboard  of  her,  fur  she  aint'  water-logged,  an',  more'n 
that,  I  don't  s'pose  her  stores  are  all  soaked  up  in 
salt  water.'  There  was  some  sense  in  that,  and  when 
the  steamer  had  got  to  within  half  a  mile  of  us,  we  was 
glad  to  see  a  boat  put  out  from  her  with  three  men  in 
it.  It  was  a  queer  boat,  very  low  an'  flat,  an'  not  like 
any  ship's  boat  I  ever  see.  But  the  two  fellers  at  the 
oars  pulled  stiddy,  an'  pretty  soon  the  boat  was  'long- 
side  of  us,  an'  the  three  men  on  our  deck.  One  of 
'em  was  the  first  mate  of  the  other  wreck,  an'  when  he 
found  out  what  was  the  matter  with  us,  he  spun  his 
yarn,  which  was  a  longer  one  than  ours.  His  vessel 
was  the  'Water  Crescent,'  nine  hundred  tons,  from 
'Frisco  to  Melbourne,  and  they  had  sailed  about  six 
weeks  afore  we  did.  They  was  about  two  weeks  out 
when  some  of  their  machinery  broke  down,  an'  when 
they  got  it  patched  up  it  broke  agin,  worse  than  afore, 
so  that  they  couldn't  do  nothin'  with  it.  They  kep' 
along  under  sail  for  about  a  month,  makin'  mighty 
poor  headway  till  the  typhoon  struck  'em,  an'  that 
cleaned  their  decks  off  about  as  slick  as  it  did  ours, 
but  their  hatches  wasn't  blowed  off,  an'  they  didn't 
ship  no  water  wuth  mentionin',  an'  the  crew  havin' 
kep'  below,  none  on  'em  was  lost.  But  now  they  was 
clean  out  of  provisions  and  water,  havin'  been  short 
when  the  break-down  happened,  fur  they  had  sold  all 
the  stores  they  could  spare  to  a  French  brig  in  distress 
that  they  overhauled  when  about  a  week  out.  When 
they  sighted  us  they  felt  pretty  sure  they'd  git  some 
provisions  out  of  us.     But  when  I  told  the  mate  what 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  11 

a  fix  we  was  in  his  jaw  dropped  till  his  face  was  as 
long'  as  one  of  Andy's  hands.  Howsomdever  he  said 
he'd  send  the  boat  back  fnr  as  many  men  as  it  could 
bring  over,  and  see  if  they  couldn't  get  up  some  of 
our  stores.  Even  if  they  was  soaked  with  salt  water, 
they'd  be  better  than  nothin'.  Part  of  the  cargo  of 
the  'Water  Crescent'  was  tools  an'  things  fur  some 
railway  contractors  out  in  Australier,  an'  the  mate 
told  the  men  to  bring  over  some  of  them  irons  that 
might  be  used  to  fish  out  the  stores.  All  their  ship's 
boats  had  been  bio  wed  away,  an'  the  one  they  had 
was  a  kind  of  shore  boat  for  fresh  water,  that  had  been 
shipped  as  part  of  the  cargo,  an'  stowed  below.  It 
couldn't  stand  no  kind  of  a  sea,  but  there  wasn't  nothin' 
but  a  swell  on  ;  an'  when  it  come  back  it  had  the  cap'n 
in  it,  an'  five  men,  besides  a  lot  of  chains  an'  tools. 

"Them  fellers  an'  us  worked  pretty  nigh  the  rest 
of  the  day,  an'  we  got  out  a  couple  of  bar'ls  of  water, 
which  was  all  right,  havin'  been  tight  bunged ;  an'  a 
lot  of  sea  biscuit,  all  soaked  an'  sloppy,  but  we  only 
got  a  half  bar'l  of  meat,  though  three  or  four  of  the 
men  stripped  an'  dove  fur  more'n  an  hour.  We  cut 
up  some  of  the  meat,  an'  eat  it  raw,  an'  the  cap'n  sent 
some  over  to  the  other  wreck,  which  had  drifted  past 
us  to  leeward,  an'  would  have  gone  clean  away  from 
us  if  the  cap'n  hadn't  had  a  line  got  out  an'  made  us 
fast  to  it  while  we  was  a  workin'  at  the  stores. 

"  That  night  the  cap'n  took  us  three,  as  well  as  the 
provisions  we'd  got  out,  on  board  his  hull,  where  the 
'commodations  was  consid'able  better  than  they  was  on 
the  half-sunk  '  Mary  Auguster.'     An'  afore  we  turned 


12  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

in  he  took  me  aft,  an'  had  a  talk  with  me  as  com- 
mandin*  off'cer  of  my  vessel.  *  That  wreck  o'  yourn,' 
says  he,  '  has  got  a  vallyble  cargo  in  it,  which  isn't 
spiled  by  bein'  under  water.  Now,  if  you  could  get 
that  cargo  into  port  it  would  put  a  lot  of  money  in 
your  pocket,  fur  the  owners  couldn't  git  out  of  payin' 
you  fur  takin'  charge  of  it,  an'  havin'  it  brung  in.  Now 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  lie  by  you,  an'  I've  got 
carpenters  aboard  that'll  put  your  pumps  in  order,  an' 
I'll  set  my  men  to  work  to  pump  out  your  vessel.  An' 
then,  when  she's  afloat  all  right,  I'll  go  to  work  agin 
at  my  vessel,  which  I  didn't  s'pose  there  was  any  use 
o'  doin'  ;  but  whilst  I  was  huntin'  round  amongst  our 
cargo  to-duy  I  found  that  some  of  the  machinery  we 
carried  might  be  worked  up  so's  to  take  the  place  of 
what  is  broke  in  our  engin'.  We've  got  a  forge  aboard 
an'  I  believe  we  can  make  these  pieces  of  machinery 
fit,  an'  git  goin'  agin.  Then  I'll  tow  3'ou  into  Sydney, 
an'  we'll  divide  the  salvage  money.  I  won't  git  nothin' 
for  savin'  my  vessel,  coz  that's  my  bizness ;  but  you 
wasn't  cap'n  o'  yourn,  an'  took  charge  of  her  a  pur- 
pose to  save  her,  which  is  another  thing. ' 

"I  wasn't  at  all  sure  that  I  didn't  take  charge  of 
the  '  Mary  Auguster  '  to  save  myself  an'  not  the  vessel, 
but  I  didn't  mention  that,  an'  asked  the  cap'n  how  he 
expected  to  live  all  this  time.  '  Oh,  we  kin  git  at  your 
stores  easy  enough,'  says  he, '  when  the  water's  pumped 
out,'  'They'll  be  mostly  spiled,' says  I.  'That  don't 
matter,'  says  he,  '  men'll  eat  anythin',  when  they  can't 
git  nothin'  else.'  An'  with  that  he  left  me  to  think  it 
over. 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  13 

''  I  must  say,  young  man,  an'  you  kin  b'lieve  me  if 
you  know  any  thin'  about  sech  things,  that  the  idee  of 
a  pile  of  money  was  mighty  temptin'  to  a  feller  like 
me,  who  had  a  girl  at  home  ready  to  marry  him,  and 
who  would  like  nothin'  better'n  to  have  a  little  house 
of  his  own,  an'  a  little  vessel  of  his  own,  an'  give  up 
the  other  side  of  the  world  altogether.  But  while  I 
was  goin'  over  all  this  in  my  mind,  an'  wonderin'  if 
the  cap'n  ever  could  git  us  into  port,  along  comes  Andy 
Boyle,  and  sits  down  beside  me.  '  It  drives  me  pretty 
nigh  crazy,'  says  he,  '  to  think  that  to-morrer's  Christ- 
mas, an'  we've  got  to  feed  on  that  sloppy  stuff  we 
fished  out  of  our  stores,  an'  not  much  of  it  nuther, 
while  there's  all  that  roast  turkey,  an'  plum-puddin', 
an'  mince-pie,  a  floatin'  out  there  just  before  our  eyes, 
an'  we  can't  have  none  of  it.'  '  You  hadn't  oughter 
think  so  much  about  eatin',  Andy,'  says  I,  'but  if  I 
was  talkin'  about  them  things  I  wouldn't  leave  out 
canned  peaches.  B}'  George !  Of  a  hot  Christmas 
like  this  is  goin'  to  be,  I'd  be  the  jolliest  Jack  on  the 
ocean  if  I  could  git  at  that  canned  fruit.'  'Well, 
there's  a  way,'  says  Andy,  '  that  we  might  git  some 
of  'em.  A  part  of  the  cargo  of  this  ship  is  stuff  for 
blastin'  rocks ;  catridges,  'lectric  bat'ries,  an'  that 
sort  of  thing ;  an'  there's  a  man  aboard  who's  goin' 
out  to  take  charge  of  'em.  I've  been  talkin'  to  this 
bat'ry  man,  an'  I've  made  up  my  mind  it'll  be  easy 
enough  to  lower  a  little  catridge  down  among  our  cargo, 
an'  blow  out  a  part  of  it.'  '  What  ud  be  the  good  of 
it,'  says  I,  '  blowed  into  chips?'  'It  might  smash 
some,'  he  said,  '  but  others  would  be  only  loosened, 


14  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

an*  they'd  float  up  to  the  top,  where  we  could  get  *em, 
'specially  them  as  was  packed  with  pies,  which  must 
be  pretty  light.'  'Git  out,  Andy,'  says  I,  'with  all 
that  stuff  !  '     An'  he  got  out. 

"  But  the  idees  he'd  put  into  my  head  didn't  git  out, 
an'  as  I  laid  on  my  back  on  the  deck,  lookin'  up  at  the 
stars,  they  sometimes  seemed  to  put  themselves  into 
the  shape  of  little  houses,  with  a  little  woman  cookin' 
at  the  kitchin  fire,  an'  a  little  schooner  layin'  at  anchor 
just  off  shore ;  an'  then  agin  they'd  hump  themselves 
up  till  they  looked  like  a  lot  of  new  tin  cans  with  their 
tops  off,  an'  all  kinds  of  good  things  to  eat  inside, 
'specially  canned  peaches  —  the  big  white  kind  —  soft 
an'  cool,  each  one  split  in  half,  with  a  holler  in  the 
middle  filled  with  juice.  By  George,  sir,  the  very 
thought  of  a  tin  can  like  that  made  me  beat  my  heels 
agin  the  deck.  I'd  been  mighty  hungry,  an'  had  eat 
a  lot  of  salt  pork,  wet  an'  raw,  an'  now  the  very  idee 
of  it,  even  cooked,  turned  my  stomach.  I  looked  up 
to  the  stars  agin,  an'  the  little  house  an*  the  little 
schooner  was  clean  gone,  an'  the  whole  sky  was  filled 
with  nothin'  but  bright  new  tin  cans. 

"In  the  mornin',  Andy,  he  come  to  me  agin. 
'Have  you  made  up  your  mind,'  says  he,  'about  git- 
tin'  some  of  them  good  things  for  Christmas  dinner?' 
'  Confound  you  ! '  says  I,  '  you  talk  as  if  all  we  had 
to  do  was  to  go  an'  git  'em.'  'An'  that's  what  I 
b'lieve  we  kin  do,'  says  he,  '  with  the  help  of  that 
bat'ry  man.'  'Yes,'  says  I,  'an'  blow  a  lot  of  the 
cargo  into  flinders,  an'  damage  the  "  Mary  Auguster" 
so's  she  couldn't  never  be  took  into  port.'     An'  then 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK  15 

I  told  him  what  the  cap'n  had  said  to  me,  an'  what  1 
was  goin'  to  do  with  the  money.  'A  httle  catridge,' 
says  Andy,  '  would  do  all  we  want,  an'  wouldn't  hurt 
the  vessel  nuther.  Besides  that,  I  don't  b'lieve  what 
this  cap'n  says  about  tinkerin'  up  his  engin'.  Tain't 
likely  he'll  ever  git  her  runnin'  agin,  nor  pump  out  the 
"  Mary  Auguster  "  nuther.  If  I  was  you  I'd  a  durned 
sight  ruther  have  a  Christmas  dinner  in  hand  than 
a  house  an'  wife  in  the  bush.'  'I  ain't  thinkin'  o' 
marryin'  a  girl  in  Australier,'  says  I.  An'  Andy  he 
grinned,  an'  said  I  wouldn't  marry  nobody  if  I  had  to 
live  on  spiled  vittles  till  I  got  her. 

"  A  little  after  that  I  went  to  the  cap'n,  an'  I  told 
him  about  Andy's  idee,  but  he  was  down  on  it.  '  It's 
your  vessel,  an'  not  mine,'  says  he,  '  an'  if  you  want 
to  try  to  git  a  dinner  out  of  her  I'll  not  stand  in  your 
way.  But  it's  my  'pinion  you'll  just  damage  the  ship, 
an'  do  nothin'.'  Howsomdever  I  talked  to  the  bat'ry 
man  about  it,  an'  he  thought  it  could  be  done,  an'  not 
hurt  the  ship  nuther.  The  men  was  all  in  favor  of  it, 
for  none  of  'em  had  forgot  it  was  Christmas  day.  But 
Tom  Simmons,  he  was  agin  it  strong,  for  he  was 
thinkin'  he'd  git  some  of  the  money  if  we  got  the  '  Mary 
Auguster'  into  port.  He  was  a  selfish-minded  man, 
was  Tom,  but  it  was  his  nater,  an'  I  s'pose  he  couldn't 
help  it. 

"Well,  it  wasn't  long  afore  I  began  to  feel  pretty 
empty,  an-  mean,  an'  if  I'd  a  wanted  any  of  the  prog 
we  got  out  the  day  afore,  I  couldn't  have  found  much, 
for  the  men  had  eat  it  up  nearly  all  in  the  night.  An' 
so,  I  just  made  up  my  mind  without  any  more  fooliu', 


16  THE  CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

an'  me,  and  Andy  Boyle,  an'  the  bat'r}^  man,  with 
some  catridges  an'  a  coil  of  wire,  got  into  the  little 
shore  boat,  and  pulled  over  to  the  'Mary  Auguster.' 
There  we  lowered  a  small  catridge  down  the  main  hatch- 
way, an'  let  it  rest  down  among  the  cargo.  Then  we 
rowed  back  to  the  steamer,  uncoilin'  the  wire  as  we 
went.  The  bat'ry  man  dumb  up  on  deck,  an'  fixed 
his  wire  to  a  'lectric  machine,  which  he'd  got  all  ready 
afore  we  started.  Andy  and  me  didn't  git  out  of  the 
boat ;  we  had  too  much  sense  for  that,  with  all  them 
hungry  fellers  waitin'  to  jump  in  her ;  but  we  just 
pushed  a  little  off,  an'  sot  waitin',  with  our  mouths  a 
waterin',  for  him  to  touch  her  off.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
long  time  about  it,  but  at  last  he  did  it,  an'  that  in- 
stant there  was  a  bang  on  board  the  '  Mary  Auguster  * 
that  made  my  heart  jump.  Andy  an'  me  pulled  fur 
her  like  mad,  the  others  a  hoUerin'  arter  us,  an'  we 
was  on  deck  in  no  time.  The  deck  was  all  covered 
with  the  water  that  had  been  thro  wed  up ;  but  I  tell 
you,  sir,  that  we  poked  an'  fished  about,  an'  Andy 
stripped  an'  went  down,  an'  swum  all  round,  an'  we 
couldn't  find  one  floatin'  box  of  canned  goods.  There 
was  a  lot  of  splinters,  but  where  they  come  from  we 
didn't  know.  By  this  time  my  dander  was  up,  an' 
I  just  pitched  around  savage.  That  little  catridge 
wasn't  no  good,  an'  I  didn't  intend  to  stand  any  more 
foolin'.  We  just  rowed  back  to  the  other  wreck,  an' 
I  called  to  the  bat'ry  man  to  come  down,  an'  bring 
some  bigger  catridges  with  him,  fur  if  we  was  goin'  to 
do  anythin'  we  might  as  well  do  it  right.  So  he  got 
down  with  a  package  of  bigger  ones,  an'  jumped  into 


THE    CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  17 

the  boat.  The  cap'n  he  called  out  to  us  to  be  keerful, 
an'  Tom  Simmons  leaned  over  the  rail,  an'  swored, 
but  I  didn't  pay  no'  tention  to  nuther  of  'em,  an'  we 
pulled  away. 

''When  I  got  aboard  the  '  Mary  Auguster '  I  says 
to  the  bat'ry  man  :  '  We  don't  want  no  nonsense  this 
time,  an'  I  want  you  to  put  in  enough  catridges  to 
heave  up  somethin'  that'll  do  fur  a  Christmas  dinner. 
I  don't  know  how  the  cargo  is  stored,  but  you  kin 
put  one  big  catridge  'midship,  another  for'ard,  an' 
another  aft,  an'  one  or  nuther  of  'em  oughter  fetch 
up  somethin'.'  Well,  we  got  the  three  catridges  into 
place.  They  was  a  good  deal  bigger  than  the  one  we 
first  used,  an'  we  j'ined  'em  all  to  one  wire,  an'  then 
we  rowed  back,  carryin'  the  long  wire  with  us.  When 
we  reached  the  steamer,  me  an'  Andy  was  a  goin'  to 
stay  in  the  boat  as  we  did  afore,  but  the  cap'n  sung 
out  that  he  wouldn't  allow  the  bat'ry  to  be  touched  off 
till  we  come  aboard.  '  Ther's  got  to  be  fair  play,'  says 
he.  'It's  your  vittles,  but  it's  my  side  that's  doin' 
the  work.  After  we've  blasted  her  this  time  you 
two  can  go  in  the  boat,  an'  see  what  there  is  to  get 
hold  of,  but  two  of  my  men  must  go  along.'  So  me 
an'  Andy  had  to  go  on  deck,  an'  two  big  fellers  was 
detailed  to  go  with  us  in  the  little  boat  when  the 
time  come  ;    an'  then  the  bat'ry  man,  he  teched  her 

Dff. 

"  Well,  sir,  the  pop  that  followed  that  tech  was 
somethin'  to  remember.  It  shuck  the  water,  it  shuck 
the  air,  an'  it  shuck  the  hull  we  was  on.  A  reg'lar 
cloud  of  smoke,  an'  flyin'  bits  of  things  rose  up  out 


18  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

of  the  '  Mary  Auguster.'  An'  when  that  smoke  cleared 
away,  an'  the  water  was  all  bilin'  with  the  splash  of 
various  sized  hunks  that  come  rainin'  down  from  the 
sky,  wiiat  was  left  of  the  '  Mary  Auguster '  was 
sprinkled  over  the  sea  like  a  wooden  carpet  for  water 
birds  to  walk  on.  . 

"  Some  of  the  men  sung  out  one  thing,  an*  some 
another,  an'  I  could  hear  Tom  Simmons  swear,  but 
Andy  an'  me  said  never  a  word,  but  scuttled  down 
into  the  boat,  foUered  close  by  the  two  men  who  was 
to  go  with  us.  Then  we  rowed  like  devils  for  the  lot 
of  stuff  that  was  bobbin'  about  on  the  water,  out 
where  the  '  Mary  Auguster '  had  been.  In  we  went, 
among  the  floatin'  spars  and  ship's  timbers,  I  keepin' 
the  things  off  with  an  oar,  the  two  men  rowin',  an' 
Andy  in  the  bow. 

"  Suddenly  Andy  give  a  yell,  an'  then  he  reached 
himself  for'ard  with  sech  a  bounce  that  I  thought  he'd 
go  overboard.  But  up  he  come  in  a  minnit,  his  two 
Teven-lnch  hands  gripped  round  a  box.  He  sot  down 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  with  the  box  on  his  lap,  an' 
his  eyes  screwed  on  some  letters  that  was  stamped  on 
one  end.  '  Pidjin  pies  !  '  he  sings  out.  '  Tain't  tur- 
keys, nor  'tain't  cranberries.  But,  by  the  Lord  Harry, 
it's  Christmas  pies  all  the  same !  '  After  that  Andy 
didn't  do  no  more  work,  but  sot  hold  in'  that  box  as 
if  it  had  been  his  fust  baby.  But  we  kep'  pushin'  on 
to  see  what  else  there  was.  It's  my  'pinion  that  the 
biggest  part  of  that  bark's  cargo  was  blowed  into 
mince  meat,  an'  the  most  of  the  rest  of  it  was  so 
heavy  that  it  sunk.     But  it  wasn't  all  busted  up,  an' 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  19 

it  didn't  all  sink.  There  was  a  big  piece  of  wreck 
with  a  lot  of  boxes  stove  into  the  timbers,  and  some 
of  these  had  in  'em  beef  ready  biled  an'  packed  into 
cans,  an'  there  was  other  kinds  of  meat,  an'  dif'rent 
sorts  of  vegetables,  an'  one  box  of  turtle  soup.  I 
looked  at  ever}^  one  of  'em  as  we  took  'em  in,  an' 
when  we  got  the  little  boat  pretty  well  loaded  I  wanted 
to  still  keep  on  searchin',  but  the  men,  they  said  that 
shore  boat  ud  sink  if  we  took  in  any  more  cargo,  an' 
so  we  put  back,  I  feelin'  glummer'n  I  oughter  felt,  fur 
I  had  begun  to  be  afeared  that  canned  fruit,  such  as 
peaches,  was  heavy,  an'  li'ble  to  sink. 

"  As  soon  as  we  had  got  our  boxes  aboard,  four 
fresh  men  put  out  in  the  boat,  an'  after  awhile  they 
come  back  with  another  load  ;  an'  I  was  mighty  keer- 
ful  to  read  the  names  on  all  the  boxes.  Some  was 
meat  pies,  an'  some  was  salmon,  an'  some  was  potted 
herrins,  an'  some  was  lobsters.  But  nary  a  thing 
could  I  see  that  ever  had  growed  on  a  tree. 

"Well,  sir,  there  was  three  loads  brought  in,  alto- 
gether, an'  the  Christmas  dinner  we  had  on  the  for'ard 
deck  of  that  steamer's  hull  was  about  the  joUiest  one 
that  was  ever  seen  of  a  hot  day  aboard  of  a  wreck  in 
the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  cap'n  kept  good  order,  an* 
when  all  was  ready  the  tops  was  jerked  off  the  boxes, 
and  each  man  grabbed  a  can  an'  opened  it  with  his 
knife.  When  he  had  cleaned  it  out,  he  tuk  another 
without  doin'  much  questionin'  as  to  the  bill  of  fare. 
Whether  anybod}^  got  pidjin  pie  'cept  Andy,  I  can't 
say,  but  the  way  we  piled  in  Delmoniker  prog  would 
a  made  people  open  their  eyes   as  was   eatin'   their 


20  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

Christmas  dinners  on  shore  that  day.  Some  of  the 
things  would  a  been  better,  cooked  a  little  more,  or 
het  up,  but  we  was  too  fearful  hungry  to  wait  for  that, 
an'  they  was  tip-top  as  they  was. 

"  The  cap'n  went  out  afterwards,  an'  towed  in  a 
couple  of  bar'ls  of  flour  that  was  only  part  soaked 
through,  an'  he  got  some  other  plain  prog  that  would 
do  fur  f utur  use ;  but  none  of  us  give  our  minds  to 
stuff  like  this  arter  the  glorious  Christmas  dinner  that 
we'd  quarried  out  of  the  '  Mary  Auguster.'  Every  man 
that  wasn't  on  duty  went  below,  and  turned  in  for  a 
snooze.  All  'eept  me,  an'  I  didn't  feel  just  altogether 
satisfied.  To  be  sure  I'd  had  an  A  1  dinner,  an'  though 
a  little  mixed,  I'd  never  eat  a  jollier  one  on  any  Christ- 
mas that  I  kin  look  back  at.  But,  fur  all  that,  there 
was  a  hanker  inside  o'  me.  I  hadn't  got  all  I'd  laid 
out  to  git,  when  we  teched  off  the  '  Mary  Auguster.' 
The  day  was  blazin'  hot,  an'  a  lot  of  the  things  I'd  eat 
was  pretty  peppery.  '  Now,'  thinks  I,  '  if  there  had  a 
been  just  one  can  o'  peaches  sech  as  I  see  shinin'  in 
the  stars  last  night,'  an'  just  then,  as  I  was  walkin' 
aft,  all  by  myself,  I  seed  lodged  on  the  stump  of  the 
mizzenmast,  a  box  with  one  corner  druv  down  among 
the  splinters.  It  was  half  split  open,  an'  I  could  see 
the  tin  cans  shinin'  through  the  crack.  I  give  one 
jump  at  it,  an'  wrenched  the  side  off.  On  the  top  of 
the  first  can  I  seed  was  a  picture  of  a  big  white  peach 
with  green  leaves.  That  box  had  been  blowed  up  so 
high  that  if  it  had  come  down  anywhere  'cept  among 
them  splinters  it  would  a  smashed  itself  to  flinders,  or 
killfd  somebody.     So  fur  as  I  know,  it  was  the  only 


THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK.  21 

thing  that  fell  nigh  us,  an'  by  George,  sir,  I  got  it ! 
When  I  had  finished  a  can  of  'em  I  hunted  up  Andy, 
an'  then  we  went  aft,  an'  eat  some  more.  '  Well,' 
says  Andy,  as  we  was  a  eatin',  'how  d'ye  feel  now 
about  blowin'  up  your  wife,  an'  your  house,  an'  that 
little  schooner  you  was  goin'  to  own  ?  ' 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  *  this  is  the  joyfulest  Christmas 
I've  had  yit,  an'  if  I  was  to  live  till  twenty  hundred  I 
don't  b'lieve  I'd  have  no  joyfuler,  with  things  comin' 
in  so  pat,  so  don't  you  throw  no  shadders.' 

"  '  Shadders,'  says  Andy,  'that  ain't  me.  I  leave 
that  sort  of  thing  fur  Tom  Simmons.' 

"  '  Shadders  is  cool,'  says  I,  '  an'  I  kin  go  to  sleep 
under  all  he  throws.' 

"  Well  sir,"  continued  old  Silas,  putting  his  hand  on 
the  tiller  and  turning  his  face  seaward,  '•  if  Tom  Sim- 
mons had  kept  command  of  that  wreck,  we  all  would 
a  laid  there  an'  waited  an'  waited  till  some  of  us  was 
starved,  an'  the  others  got  nothin'  fur  it,  fur  the  cap'n 
never  mended  his  engin',  an'  it  was  more'n  a  week 
afore  we  was  took  off,  an'  then  it  was  by  a  sailin' 
vessel,  which  left  the  hull  of  the  '  Water  Crescent '  be- 
hind her,  just  as  she  would  a  had  to  leave  the  '  Mary 
Auguster '  if  that  jolly  old  Christmas  wreck  had  a  been 
there. 

"An'  now  sir,"  said  Silas,  "  d'3'e  see  that  stretch 
o'  little  ripples  over  yander,  lookin'  as  if  it  was  a  lot 
o'  herrin'  turnin*  over  to  dry  their  sides?  Do  you 
know  what  that  is?  That's  the  supper  wind.  That 
means  coffee,  an'  hot  cakes,  an'  a  bit  of  br'iled  fish, 


22  THE   CHRISTMAS    WRECK. 

an'  pertaters,  an'  p'raps — if  the  old  woman  feels  in 
a  partiklar  good  humor  —  some  canned  peaches,  big 
white  uns,  cut  in  half,  with  a  holler  place  in  the  middle 
filled  with  cool,  sweet  juice." 


A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE, 


TN  a  general  way  I  am  not  a  superstitious  man,  but 
-^  I  have  a  few  ideas,  or  notions,  in  regard  to  fatality 
and  kindred  subjects  of  which  I  have  never  been  able 
entirely  to  dispossess  my  mind ;  nor  can  I  say  that  I 
have  ever  tried  very  much  to  do  so,  for  I  hold  that  a 
certain  amount  of  irrationalism  in  the  nature  of  a  man 
is  a  thing  to  be  desired.  By  its  aid  he  clambers  over 
the  wall  which  limits  the  action  of  his  intellect,  and  if 
he  be  but  sure  that  he  can  get  back  again  no  harm 
may  come  of  it,  while  he  is  the  better  for  many 
pleasant  excursions. 

My  principal  superstitious  notion,  and  indeed  the 
only  one  of  importance,  is  the  belief  that  whatever  I 
earnestly  desire  and  plan  for  will  happen.  This  idea 
does  not  relate  to  things  for  which  people  fight  hard, 
or  work  long,  but  to  those  events  for  which  we  sit 
down  and  wait.  It  is  truly  a  pleasant  belief,  and  one 
worthy  to  be  fostered  if  there  can  be  found  any  ground 
for  it.  I  do  not  exercise  my  little  superstition  very 
often,  but  when  I  do  I  find  things  happen  as  I  wish; 

23 


24  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

and  in  cases  where  this  has  not  yet  occurred  there  is 
plenty  of  time  to  wait. 

I  am  not  a  very  old  person,  being  now  in  my  twenty- 
eighth  3^ear,  but  my  two  sisters,  who  live  with  me,  as 
well  as  most  of  my  acquaintances,  look  upon  me,  I 
think,  as  an  older  man.  This  is  not  due  to  my  experi- 
ence in  the  world,  for  I  have  not  gone  out  a  great  deal 
among  my  fellow-men,  but  rather  to  my  habits  of  read- 
ing and  reflection,  which  have  so  matured  my  intel- 
lectual nature  that  the  rest  of  me,  so  to  speak,  has 
insensibly  stepped  a  little  faster  to  keep  pace  with  it. 
Grace  Anna,  indeed,  is  two  years  older  than  I,  yet  I 
know  she  looks  up  to  me  as  a  senior  quite  as  much  as 
does  Bertha,  who  is  but  twenty-four. 

These  sisters  had  often  laughingly  assured  me  that 
the  one  thing  I  needed  was  a  wife,  and,  although  I 
never  spoke  much  on  the  subject,  in  the  course  of  time 
I  began  to  think  a  good  deal  about  it,  and  the  matter 
so  interested  my  mind  that  at  last  I  did  a  very  singular 
thing.  I  keep  a  diary,  in  which  I  briefly  note  daily 
events,  especially  those  which  may,  in  a  degree,  be 
considered  as  epochs.  My  book  has  a  page  for  every 
day,  with  the  date  printed  at  the  top  thereof ;  not  a 
very  desirable  form,  perhaps,  for  those  who  would 
write  much  on  one  day  and  very  little  the  next,  but  it 
suits  me  well  enough,  for  I  seldom  enter  into  details. 
Not  many  months  ago,  as  I  sat  alone,  one  evening,  in 
my  library,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  this  diary,  I 
looked  ahead  at  the  pages  intended  for  the  days  of  the 
year  that  were  yet  to  come,  and  the  thought  entered 
my  mind  that  it  was  a  slavish  thing  to  be  able  to  note 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  25 

only  what  bad  happened,  and  not  to  dare  to  write  one 
word  upon  the  blank  pages  of  the  next  month,  or  the 
next,  or  even  of  to-morrow.  As  I  turned  backward 
and  forward  these  pages  devoted  to  a  record  of  the 
future  the  desire  came  to  me  to  write  something  upon 
one  of  them.  It  was  a  foolish  fancy,  perhaps,  but  it 
pleased  me.  I  would  like  a  diary,  not  only  of  what 
had  been,  but  of  what  was  to  be.  I  longed  to  chal- 
lenge fate,  and  I  did  it.  I  selected  a  page,  not  too  far 
ahead  and  in  a  good  time  of  the  year,  —  it  w^as  Sep- 
tember 14th,  —  and  on  it  I  wrote,  — 

"  This  day  came  into  my  life  she  who  is  to  be  my  wife." 

When  I  had  made  this  strange  entry  I  regarded  it  with 
satisfaction.  I  had  fully  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  due  to  my  position  as  the  owner  of  a  goodly 
estate  that  I  should  marr}'.  I  had  felt  that  at  some 
time  I  must  do  something  in  this  matter.  And  now  a 
thing  was  done,  aud  a  time  was  fixed.  It  is  true  that 
I  knew  no  woman  who  was  at  all  likely,  upon  the  day 
I  had  selected,  or  upon  any  other  day,  to  exercise  a 
matrimonial  influence  upon  my  life.  But  that  made 
no  difference  to  me.  I  had  taken  my  fate  into  m}'  own 
hands,  and  I  would  now  see  what  would  happen. 

It  was  then  earl}'  in  Jul}',  and  in  a  little  more  than 
two  months,  the  day  which  I  had  made  a  very  momen- 
tous one  to  me  would  arrive.  I  can  not  say  that  I  had 
a  positive  belief  that  what  I  had  written  would  occur 
on  the  14th  of  September,  but  I  had  a  very  strange 
notion  that,  as  there  was  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
be  so,  it  would  be  so.     At  any  rate,  who  could  say  it 


26  A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

would  not  be  so?  This  sort  of  thing  was  not  a  be- 
lief, but  to  all  intents  and  purposes  it  was  just  as 
good. 

It  was  somewhat  amusing  even  to  myself,  and  it 
would  probably  have  been  very  amusing  to  any  one 
else  acquainted  with  the  circumstances,  to  observe  the 
influence  that  this  foundationless  and  utterly  irrational 
expectation  had  upon  me.  To  the  great  delight  of  my 
sisters,  I  began  to  attend  to  matters  in  which  formerly 
I  had  taken  little  interest.  I  set  two  men  at  work 
upon  the  grounds  about  the  house,  giving  my  personal 
supervision  to  the  removal  of  the  patches  of  grass  in 
the  driveway,  which  led  under  the  oaks  to  the  door. 
Here  and  there  I  had  a  panel  of  fence  put  it  better 
order,  and  a  dead  apple-tree,  which  for  some  time  had 
stood  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  in  view  of  the  house,  was 
cut  down  and  taken  away. 

"If  any  of  our  friends  think  of  visiting  us,"  said 
Bertha,  ''  they  ought  to  come  now,  while  every  thing  is 
looking  so  trim  and  nice." 

'' Would  you  like  that?"  asked  Grace  Anna,  look- 
ing at  me. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "That  is,  they  might  begin  to 
come  now." 

At  this  both  my  sisters  laughed. 

"Begin  to  come!"  cried  Bertha.  "How  hos- 
pitable you  are  growing  !  " 

The  summer  went  on,  and  I  kept  good  faith  with 
my  little  superstition.  If  either  of  us  should  desert 
the  other,  it  should  not  be  I  who  would  do  it.  It 
pleased  me  to  look  forward  to  the  event  which  I  had 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  27 

called  up  out  of  the  future,  and  to  wait  for  it  —  if 
perchance  it  should  come. 

One  morning  my  sister  Bertha  entered  my  librar}', 
with  a  letter  in  her  hand  and  a  very  pleasant  expres- 
sion on  her  face.  "What  do  you  think?  "  she  said. 
"We  are  going  to  have  a  visit!  —  just  as  the  paint 
^s  dry  on  the  back  porch,  so  that  we  can  have  tea  there 
in  the  afternoon." 

"A  visit!  "  I  exclaimed,  regarding  her  with  much 
interest. 

"Yes,"  continued  Bertha.  "Kitty  Watridge  is 
coming  to  stay  with  us.  I  have  written  and  written 
to  her,  and  now  she  is  coming.'* 

"Who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

Bertha  laughed.  "  You  haven't  forgotten  the 
Watridges,  have  you?" 

No,  I  had  not  forgotten  them  ;  at  least,  the  only 
one  of  them  I  ever  knew.  Old  Mr.  Watridge  had 
been  a  friend  of  my  late  father,  a  cheerful  and  rather 
ruddy  man,  although  much  given  to  books.  He  had 
been  my  friend,  too,  in  the  days  when  he  used  to  come 
to  us  ;  and  I  remember  well  that  it  was  he  who  started 
me  on  a  journey  along  the  third  shelf  from  the  top,  on 
the  east  wall  of  the  library,  through  "  The  World  Dis- 
played," in  many  volumes,  by  Smart,  Goldsmith,  and 
Johnson  ;  and  thence  to  some  "New  Observations  on 
Italy,"  in  French,  by  two  Swedish  gentlemen,  in  1758  ; 
and  so  on  through  many  other  works  of  the  kind, 
where  I  found  the  countries  shown  forth  on  their 
quaint  pages  so  different  from  those  of  the  same  name 
described  in  modern  books  of  travel  that  it  was  to  me 


28  A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

a  virtual  enlargement  of  the  worlci.  It  had  been  a 
long  time  since  I  had  seen  the  old  gentleman,  and  I 
felt  sorry  for  it. 

"  Is  Mr.  Watridge  coming?  "  I  asked. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Bertha.  "That  would  be 
your  affair.  And  besides,  he  never  leaves  home 
now.  It  is  only  Kitty,  his  youngest  daughter,  my 
friend." 

I  had  an  indistinct  recollection  that  Mr.  Watridge 
had  some  children,  and  that  they  were  daughters,  but 
that  was  all  I  remembered  about  them.  "She  is 
grown?  "  I  asked. 

"I  should  think  so,"  answered  Bertha,  with  a 
laugh.     "  She  is  at  least  twenty." 

If  my  sister  could  have  known  the  intense  interest 
which  suddenly  sprung  up  within  me  she  would  have 
been  astounded.  A  grown-up,  marriageable  young 
lady  was  coming  to  my  house,  in  September!  M}' 
next  question  was  asked  hurriedly:  "When  will  she 
be  here  ?  ' ' 

"  She  is  coming  next  Wednesday,  the  16th," 
answered  Bertha,  referring  to  her  letter. 

"  The  16th  !  "  I  said  to  myself.  "  That  is  two  days 
atUr  '»y  date.'* 

"  What  kind  of  a  lady  is  she?  "  I  asked  Bertha. 

"  She  is  lovely,  — just  as  lovel}-  as  she  can  be." 

I  now  began  to  feel  a  little  disappointed.  If  she 
were  lovely,  as  my  sister  said,  and  twenty,  with  good 
Watridge  blood,  why  did  she  not  come  a  little  sooner? 
It  was  truly  an  odd  thing  to  do,  but  I  could  not 
forbear  expressing  what  I  thought.     "  I  wish,"  I  said. 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  29 

somewhat  abstracted!}",  "that  she  were  coming  on 
Monday  instead  of  Wednesday." 

Bertha  laughed  heartily.  "I  was  really  afraid," 
she  said,  "that  you  might  think  there  were  enough 
girls  already  in  the  house.  But  here  you  are  wanting 
Kitty  to  come  before  she  is  ready.  Grace  Anna!" 
she  cried  to  my  elder  sister,  who  was  passing  the 
open  door,  "  he  isn't  put  out  a  bit,  and  he  is  in  such 
a  hurry  to  see  Kitty  that  he  thinks  she  should  come  on 
Monday." 

It  was  impossible  to  chide  m}'  sisters  for  laughing 
at  me,  and  I  could  not  help  smiling  myself.  "It  is 
not  that  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  see  her,"  I  observed,  "  for 
I  do  not  know  the  young  lady  at  all ;  but  I  consider 
Monday  a  more  suitable  day  than  Wednesdaj'  for  her 
arrival." 

"It  is  odd,"  replied  Bertha,  "that  you  should 
prefer  one  day  to  another." 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  it  does  not  suit  3'ou  to 
have  her  come  on  Wednesday-?"  asked  Grace  Anna. 
"  Her  visit  might  be  deferred  a  day  or  two." 

Of  course  I  could  give  no  reason,  and  I  did  not 
wish  the  visit  deferred. 

"It's  just  because  he's  so  dreadfully  systematic!  " 
cried  Bertha.  "  He  thinks  every  thing  ought  to  begin 
at  the  beginning  of  the  week,  and  that  even  a  visit 
should  make  a  fair  start  on  Monday,  and  not  break  in 
unmethodically." 

My  elder  sister  was  alwa3's  very  considerate  of  my 
welfare  and  my  wishes,  and  had  it  been  practicable  I 
believe  that  she  would  have  endeavored  Lu  this  instance 


30  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

to  make  our  hospitality  conform  to  what  appeared  to 
be  my  love  of  system  and  order.  But  she  explained 
to  me  that,  apart  from  the  awkwardness  of  asking  the 
young  lady  to  change  the  day  which  she  had  herself 
fixed,  without  being  able  to  give  any  good  reason 
therefor,  it  would  be  extremely  inconvenient  for  them 
to  have  their  visitor  before  Wednesda}",  as  an  earlier 
arrival  would  materially  interfere  with  certain  house- 
hold arrangements. 

I  said  no  more,  but  I  was  disappointed ;  and  this 
feeling  grew  upon  me,  for  the  reason  that  during  the 
rest  of  the  day  and  the  evening  my  sisters  talked  a 
great  deal  about  their  young  friend,  and  I  found  that, 
unless  they  were  indeed  most  prejudiced  judges,  — 
which  in  the  case  of  Grace  Anna,  at  least,  I  could 
never  believe,  —  this  young  person  who  was  coming  to 
us  must  be  possessed  of  most  admirable  personal 
qualities.  She  was  pretty ;  she  had  excellent  moral 
sentiments,  a  well-cultured  intellect,  and  a  lovable 
disposition.  These,  with  the  good  blood,  —  which, 
in  my  opinion,  was  a  most  important  requisite,  — 
made  up  a  woman  in  every  way  fitted  to  enter  m}-  life 
in  a  matrimonial  capacity.  If,  without  any  personal 
bias,  I  had  been  selecting  a  wife  for  a  friend,  I  could 
not  have  expected  to  do  better  than  this.  That  such 
a  young  person  should  come  within  the  range  of  my 
cognizance  on  the  wrong  day  would  be,  to  say  the 
least,  a  most  annoying  occurrence.  Why  did  I  not 
select  the  16th,  or  she  the  14th?  A  fate  that  was  two 
days  slow  might  as  well  be  no  fate  at  all.  My  meeting 
with  the  girl  would  have  no  meaning.     I  must  admit 


A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  31 

that  the  more  I  thought  about  this  girl  the  more  I 
wished  it  should  have  a  meaning. 

During  the  night,  or  perhaps  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, a  most  felicitous  idea  came  into  my  mind.  I  would 
assist  my  fate.  My  idea  was  this :  On  Monday  I 
would  drive  to  Mr.  Watridge's  house.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant day's  journey.  I  would  spend  Tuesday  with  him, 
and,  returning  on  Wednesday,  I  could  bring  Miss  Kitty 
with  me.  Thus  all  the  necessary  conditions  would  be 
fulfilled.  She  would  come  into  my  life  on  the  14th, 
and  I  would  have  opportunities  of  knowing  her  which 
probably  would  not  occur  to  me  at  home.  Everything 
would  happen  as  it  should  ;  only,  instead  of  the  lady 
coming  to  me,  I  should  go  to  her. 

As  I  expected,  my  project,  when  I  announced  it  at 
the  breakfast  table,  was  the  occasion  of  much  mirth, 
especially  on  the  part  of  Bertha.  "  I  never  saw  any 
thing  like  it!'*  she  cried.  "You  want  to  see  Kitty 
even  more  than  I  do.  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing  as  going  for  her  two  days  in  advance." 

"As  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  you  to  do 
so,"  said  I,  "  I  can  easily  conceive  that  you  would  not 
have  allowed  the  idea  to  enter  your  mind." 

Grace  Anna,  however,  looked  upon  my  plan  with 
much  favor,  and  entered  into  its  details  with  interest, 
dwelling  particularly  on  the  pleasure  Mr.  Watridge 
would  derive  from  my  visit. 

I  looked  forward  with  great  pleasure  to  the  little 
journey  I  was  about  to  make.  The  distance  from 
Eastover,  my  residence,  to  Mr.  Watridge's  house  was 
some  twent3'-five  miles,  —  a  very  suitable  day's  drive 


32  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

in  fine  weather.  The  road  led  through  a  pleasant 
country,  with  several  opportunities  for  pretty  views ; 
and  about  half-way  was  a  neat  tavern,  standing  behind 
an  immense  cherrj'-tree,  where  a  stop  could  be  made 
for  rest  and  for  a  midday  meal.  I  had  a  comfortable, 
easy-cushioned  buggy,  well  provided  with  protective 
appurtenances  in  case  of  rain  or  too  much  sunshine  ; 
and  my  sisters  and  myself  were  of  the  opinion  that, 
under  ordinary-  circumstances,  no  one  would  hesitate 
between  this  vehicle  and  the  crowded  stage-coach, 
which  was  the  only  means  of  communication  between 
our  part  of  the  country  and  that  in  which  the  Watridge 
estate  lay. 

I  made  an  early  start  on  Monday  morning,  with  my 
good  horse,  Dom  Pedro ;  named  by  my  sister  Bertha, 
but  whether  for  the  Emperor  of  Brazil,  or  for  a  social 
game  of  cards  which  we  generally  played  when  we  had 
two  or  three  visitors,  and  therefore  there  were  too  many 
of  us  for  whist,  I  do  not  know.  I  arrived  at  my  desti- 
nation towards  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  and  old  Mr. 
Watridge  was  delighted  to  see  me.  We  spent  a  pleas- 
ant hour  in  his  library,  waiting  for  the  return  of  his 
two  daughters,  who  were  out  for  a  walk.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  it  was  with  considerable  emotional  per- 
turbation that  I  beheld  the  entrance  into  that  room  of 
Miss  Kitty  Watridge.  She  came  in  alone  ;  her  sister, 
who  was  much  older,  being  detained  by  some  house- 
hold duties,  connected,  probably,  with  my  unexpected 
arrival.  This,  with  the  action  of  Mr.  Watridge  in 
presently  excusing  himself  for  a  time,  gave  me  an 
opportunity,  more  immediate  than  I  had  expected,  for 


A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  33 

an  uninterrupted  study  of  this  young  lady,  who  had 
become  to  me  so  important  a  person. 

I  will  not  describe  Kitty,  her  appearance,  nor  her 
conversation,  but  will  merely  remark  that  before  we 
were  joined  by  her  father  and  sister  I  would  have  been 
quite  willing,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  to  show  her 
the  entry  in  my  diary. 

It  may  be  that  a  man  heavily  clad  with  the  armor  of 
reserve  and  restraint  sinks  more  quickly  and  deeper 
than  one  not  so  encumbered,  when  he  finds  himself 
suddenly  in  a  current  of  that  sentiment  which  now 
possessed  me.  Be  that  as  it  may,  my  determination 
was  arrived  at  before  I  slept  that  night :  Kitty  Wat- 
ridge  had  entered  into  m}'  life  on  the  14th  of  Septem- 
ber, and  I  was  willing  to  accept  her  as  my  wife. 

As  the  son  of  an  old  comrade  on  the  part  of  the 
father,  and  as  the  brother  of  two  dear  friends  on 
the  part  of  the  daughters,  I  was  treated  with  hearty 
cordiality  by  his  family,  and  the  next  day  was  a  most 
pleasing  and  even  delightful  one  to  me,  until  the  even- 
ing came.  Then  a  cloud,  and  a  verj'  heavy  one,  arose 
upon  my  emotional  horizon.  I  had  stated  how  I  pur- 
posed to  make  the  little  journey  of  Miss  Kitty  to  our 
house  more  comfortable  and  expeditious  than  it  would 
otherwise  be,  and  Mr.  Watridge  had  expressed  himself 
very  much  pleased  with  the  plan  ;  while  Kitty  had 
declared  that  it  would  be  charming,  especially  when 
compared  with  travel  by  stage-coach,  of  which  the 
principal  features,  in  her  idea  of  it,  appeared  to  be 
mothers,  little  children,  and  lunch  baskets.  But,  after 
dinner,  Miss  Maria,  the  elder  daughter,  remarked  very 


34  A  STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

quietly,  but  very  positively,  that  she  did  not  think  it 
would  do  —  that  is  the  phrase  she  used  —  for  me  to 
drive  her  sister  to  Eastover.  She  gave  no  reasons, 
and  I  asked  none,  but  it  was  quite  evident  that  hei 
decision  was  one  not  to  be  altered. 

"  It  would  be  far  better,"  she  said,  ''  not  to  change 
our  original  plan,  and  for  Kitty,  as  well  as  her  trunk, 
to  go  by  the  stage.  Mrs.  Karcroft  is  going  the  whole 
of  the  way,  and  Kitty  will  be  well  taken  care  of." 

Miss  Maria  was  the  head  of  the  house ;  she  had 
acted  for  many  years  as  the  maternal  director  of  her 
sister ;  and  I  saw  very  soon  that  what  the  other  two 
members  of  the  family  might  think  upon  the  subject 
would  matter  very  little.  The  father,  indeed,  made  at 
first  some  very  vigorous  dissent,  urging  that  it  would 
be  a  shame  to  make  me  take  that  long  drive  home 
alone,  when  I  had  expected  company ;  and  although 
Kitty  said  nothing,  I  am  sure  she  looked  quite  disap- 
pointed. But  neither  words  nor  looks  availed  any 
thing.  Miss  Maria  was  placid,  but  very  firm,  and 
under  her  deft  management  of  the  conversation  the 
subject  was  soon  dismissed  as  settled. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  observed  the  old  gentleman  to 
me,  when  the  ladies  had  bidden  us  good-night,  "  that 
Kitty  can  not  take  advantage  of  your  invitation,  which 
was  a  very  kind  one,  and  to  which  I  see  not  the  slight- 
est objection.  My  daughter  Maria  has  very  peculiar 
ideas  sometimes,  but  as  she  acts  as  a  sort  of  mother 
here  we  don't  like  to  interfere  with  her." 

'^I  would  not  have  you  do  so  for  the  world,"  an- 
swered I. 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  35 


tr 


•You  are  very  good,  very  good!'*  exclaimed  Mr. 
Watridge  ;  "  aud  I  must  say  I  think  it's  a  confounded 
shame  that  you  and  Kitty  can  not  take  that  pleasant 
drive  together.  Suppose  you  go  with  her  in  the  stage, 
and  let  me  send  a  man  to  Eastover  with  your  horse  and 
vehicle." 

**I  thank  3'ou  very  kindly,  sir,"  I  replied,  "but  it 
will  be  better  for  me  to  return  the  way  I  came  ;  and 
your  daughter  will  have  a  companion,  I  understand." 

"  Nobody  but  old  Mrs.  Karcroft,  and  she  counts  for 
nothing  as  company.     You  had  better  think  of  it." 

I  would  not  consent,  however,  to  make  any  change 
in  my  arrangements ;  and,  shortly  after,  I  retired. 

I  went  to  bed  that  night  a  very  angry  man.  When 
I  prepared  a  plan  or  scheme  with  which  no  reasonable 
fault  could  be  found,  I  was  not  accustomed  to  have 
it  thwarted,  or  indeed  even  objected  to.  I  was  dis- 
pleased with  Mr.  Watridge  because  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  so  easily  influenced,  and  I  was  even  dissatisfied 
with  Kitty's  want  of  spirit,  though  of  course  she  could 
not  have  been  expected  to  exhibit  an  eagerness  to  ac- 
company me.  But  with  that  horrible  old  maid,  Miss 
Maria,  I  was  truly  indignant.  There  frequently  arises 
in  the  mind  an  image  which  forcibly  connects  itself 
with  the  good  or  bad  qualities  of  a  person  under  our 
contemplation,  and  thus  Miss  Maria  appeared  to  me  in 
the  character  of  a  moral  pepper-box.  Virtue  is  like 
sugar  or  cream,  —  good  in  itself,  and  of  advantage 
to  that  with  which  it  is  suitably  mingled ;  but  Miss 
Maria's  propriety  was  the  hottest  and  most  violent  sort 
of  pepper,  extremely  disagreeable  in  itself,  and  never 


36  A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

needed  except  in  the  case  of  weak  moral  digestion. 
Her  objections  were  an  insult  to  me.  I  went  to  sleep 
thinking  of  a  little  pepper  cruet  which  I  would  like  to 
nave  made  of  silver  for  my  table,  to  take  the  place  of 
the  owl  or  other  conventional  pattern,  which  should  be 
exactly  like  Miss  Maria,  —  hard  and  unimpressionable 
without,  hollow  within,  and  the  top  of  its  head  perfo- 
rated with  little  holes.  At  breakfast  I  endeavored  to 
be  coldly  polite,  but  it  must  have  been  easy  for  the 
family  to  perceive  that  I  was  very  much  offended.  I 
requested  that  my  horse  and  buggy  should  be  made 
ready  as  soon  as  possible.  While  I  was  waiting  for  it 
on  the  porch,  where  Mr.  Watridge  had  just  left  me, 
Miss  Kitty  came  out  to  me.  This  was  the  first  time  I 
had  been  alone  with  her  since  the  preceding  afternoon, 
when  we  had  had  a  most  charming  walk  through  the 
orchard  and  over  the  hills  to  a  high  point,  where  we 
had  stayed  until  we  saw  the  sun  go  down. 

"  It  seems  a  real  pity,"  she  observed  very  prettily, 
and  in  a  tone  which  touched  me,  "  that  you  should  be 
driving  off  now  by  yourself,  while  in  about  an  hour  I 
shall  start  from  the  same  place." 

"Miss  Kitty,"  said  I,  "would  you  like  to  go  with 
me?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  looked  down,  and  then 
looked  up,  and  said,  "  So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
I  think  —  I  mean  I  know  —  that  I  should  like  very 
much  to  go  with  you.  But  3'ou  see"  —  and  then  she 
hesitated  again. 

"  Say  no  more,  I  pray  you  !  "  I  exclaimed.  I  would 
not  place  her  in  the  unpleasant  position  of  defending, 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  37 

or  even  explaining,  the  unwarrantable  interference  of 
a  relative.  "If  you  really  wish  to  accompany  me," 
I  continued,  warmly  shaking  her  hand,  for  my  buggy 
was  now  approaching,  "I  am  entirely  satisfied,  and 
nothing  more  need  be  said.  It  is,  in  a  measure,  the 
same  as  if  you  were  going  with  me.     Good-by." 

A  moment  before  I  was  depressed  and  morose.  Now 
I  was  exuberantly  joyful.  The  change  was  sudden, 
but  there  was  reason  for  it.  Kitty  wished  to  go  with 
me,  and  had  come  to  tell  me  so  ! 

Mr.  Watridge  and  his  elder  daughter  now  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  and  as  I  took  leave  of  the  latter  I  am 
sure  she  noticed  a  change  in  my  manner.  I  said  no 
more  to  her  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  but  the 
sudden  cheerfulness  which  had  taken  possession  of  me 
could  not  be  repressed  even  in  her  presence. 

The  old  gentleman  accompanied  me  to  the  carriage- 
block.  '^  I  don't  want  to  bore  you  about  it,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  really  am  sorry  you  are  going  away  alone." 

I  felt  quite  sure,  from  several  things  Mr.  Watridge 
had  said  and  done  during  my  visit,  that  he  would  be 
well  pleased  to  see  his  j'ounger  daughter  and  myself 
thrown  very  much  into  the  company  of  each  other,  and 
to  have  us  remain  so,  indeed,  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives.  And  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
desire  it.  In  every  way  the  conditions  of  such  a  union 
would  be  most  favorable. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  I  returned;  "but  the 
pleasure  of  having  your  daughter  at  my  house  will 
make  me  forget  this  little  disappointment." 

He  looked  at  me  with  glistening  eyes.     Had  I  boldly 


38  A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

asked  him,  ''  Will  you  be  my  father-in-law?  "  no  more 
favorable  answer  could  have  come  from  his  lips  than 
I  now  saw  upon  his  countenance. 

"  Good  fortune  be  with  you  !  "  were  his  last  words 
as  I  drove  away. 

I  do  not  suppose  anything  of  the  kind  could  be  more 
delightful  than  my  drive  that  morning.  Miss  Kitty 
had  said  that  she  would  like  to  be  my  companion,  and 
I  determined  to  have  her  so  in  imagination,  if  not  in 
fact.  The  pleasures  of  fancy  are  sometimes  more  sat- 
isfactory than  those  of  reality,  for  we  have  them  en- 
tirely under  our  control.  I  chose  now  to  imagine  that 
Miss  Kitty  was  seated  by  my  side,  and  I  sat  well  to 
the  right,  that  I  might  give  her  plenty  of  room.  In 
imagination  I  conversed  with  her,  and  she  answered 
me  as  I  would  have  her.  Our  remarks  were  carefully 
graduated  to  the  duration  of  our  acquaintance  and  the 
seemly  progress  of  our  intimacy.  I  wished  to  discover 
the  intellectual  status  of  the  fair  young  creature  who 
had  come  into  my  life  on  the  14th  of  September.  I 
spoke  to  her  of  books,  and  found  that  her  reading  had 
been  varied  and  judicious.  She  had  read  Farrar's  "  Life 
of  Christ,"  but  did  not  altogether  like  it ;  and  while  she 
had  much  enjoyed  Fronde's  "  Caesar,"  she  could  have 
wished  to  believe  the  author  as  just  as  he  endeavored 
to  make  his  hero  appear.  With  modern  romance  she 
had  dealt  but  lightly,  rather  preferring  works  of  his- 
tory and  travel,  even  when  pervaded  with  the  flavor  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  But  we  did  not  always  speak 
of  abstract  subjects ;  we  were  both  susceptible  to  the 
influences  of  nature,  and  my  companion  enjoyed  as 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  39 

much  as  I  did  the  bright  sunshine  tempered  by  a  cool- 
ing breeze,  the  clear  sky  with  fair  white  clouds  floating 
along  the  horizon,  and  the  occasional  views  of  the  blue 
and  distant  mountains,  their  tops  suffused  with  warm 
autumnal  mists.  After  a  time  I  asked  her  if  I  might 
call  her  Kitty,  and  glancing  downward,  and  then  up, 
with  the  same  look  she  had  given  me  on  the  porch,  she 
said  I  might.  This  was  very  pleasant,  and  was  not, 
in  my  opinion,  an  undue  familiarity,  which  feature  I 
was  ver}'  careful  to  eliminate  from  our  companionship. 
One  act,  however,  of  what  might  be  termed  super- 
friendly  kindness,  I  intended  to  propose,  and  the  con- 
templation of  its  probable  acceptance  afforded  me  much 
pleasure.  After  our  quiet  luncheon  in  the  shaded 
little  dining-room  of  the  Cherry -Tree  Inn,  and  when 
she  had  rested  as  long  as  she  chose,  we  would  begin 
our  afternoon  journey,  and  the  road,  before  very  long, 
would  lead  us  through  a  great  pine  wood.  Here,  roll- 
ing over  the  hard,  smooth  way,  and  breathing  the  gen- 
tle odor  of  the  pines,  she  would  naturally  feel  a  little 
somnolent,  and  I  intended  to  say  to  her  that  if  she 
liked  she  might  rest  her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
doze.  If  I  should  hear  the  sound  of  approaching 
wheels  I  would  gently  arouse  her ;  but  as  an  interrup- 
tion of  this  kind  was  not  likely  to  occur,  I  thought  with 
much  satisfaction  of  the  pleasure  I  should  have  in  the 
afternoon,  when  this  fancy  would  be  appropriate.  To 
look  upon  the  little  head  gently  resting  on  that  shoulder, 
which,  when  our  acquaintance  had  more  fully  developed, 
I  would  offer  her  as  a  permanent  possession,  would  be 
to  me  a  preconnubial  satisfaction  of  a  very  high  order. 


40  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

When  about  a  mile  from  the  Cherry-Tree  Inn,  and 
with  my  mind  filled  with  these  agreeable  fancies,  an 
accident  happened  to  me.  One  of  the  irons  which 
connected  the  shafts  to  the  front  axle  broke,  and  the 
conditions  of  my  progress  became  abruptly  changed. 
The  wheel  at  that  end  of  the  axle  to  which  a  shaft  was 
yet  attached  went  suddenly  forward,  and  the  other  flew 
back  and  grated  against  the  side  of  the  buggy,  while 
both  wheels,  instead  of  rolling  in  the  general  course  of 
the  vehicle,  were  dragged  in  a  side  wise  direction.  The 
disconnected  shaft  fell  upon  the  legs  of  Dom  Pedro, 
who,  startled  by  the  unusual  sensation,  forsook  his 
steady  trot,  and  broke  into  a  run.  Thus,  with  the 
front  wheels  scraping  the  road,  the  horse  attached  but 
by  a  single  shaft,  I  was  hurried  along  at  an  alarming 
pace.  Pull  as  I  might,  I  could  not  check  the  progress 
of  Dom  Pedro ;  and  if  this  state  of  affairs  had  con- 
tinued for  more  than  the  few  moments  which  it  really- 
lasted,  the  front  wheels  would  have  been  shattered,  and 
I  do  not  know  what  sad  results  might  have  ensued. 
But  the  other  shaft  broke  loose,  the  reins  were  rudely 
torn  from  my  hands,  and  the  horse,  now  free  from 
attachment  to  the  vehicle,  went  clattering  along  the 
road,  the  shafts  bobbing  at  his  heels  ;  while  the  buggy, 
following  the  guidance  of  the  twisted  front  axle,  ran 
into  a  shallow  ditch  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  abruptly 
stopped. 

Unhurt,  I  sprang  out,  and  my  first  thought  was  one 
of  joy  that  the  Kitty  who  had  been  by  my  side  was  an 
imaginary  one.  Had  the  real  Kitty  been  there,  what 
might  not  have  happened  to  her !     A  dozen  possible 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  41 

accidents  crowded  themselves  on  my  mind,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  my  countenance  expressed  my  feelings. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  take  my  valise 
and  the  whip  from  the  buggy,  and  walk  on  to  the  inn, 
where  I  found  the  landlord  in  the  act  of  saddling  a 
horse,  to  come  and  see  what  had  happened  to  me. 
Dom  Pedro  had  arrived  with  a  portion  of  the  shafts 
attached  to  him,  the  rest  having  been  kicked  away. 
The  accident  occasioned  considerable  stir  at  the  inn  ; 
but  as  I  never  cared  to  discuss  my  personal  affairs 
any  further  than  is  necessary,  it  was  soon  arranged 
that  after  I  had  lunched  I  would  borrow  a  saddle  from 
the  landlord,  and  ride  Dom  Pedro  home,  while  the 
broken  buggy  would  be  brought  to  the  inn,  where  I 
would  send  for  it  the  next  day.  This  plan  did  not 
please  me,  for  I  was  not  fond  of  equestrianism,  and 
Dom  Pedro  was  rather  a  hard  trotter  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  better  to  do.  Had  I  not  taken  this  road, 
which  was  much  more  agreeable  although  rather  longer 
than  the  high  road,  I  might  have  been  picked  up  by  the 
stage  which  was  conveying  Miss  Kitty  to  my  house. 

While  I  was  yet  at  my  meal  there  arrived  at  the 
inn  a  young  man,  who  shortly  afterward  entered  the 
room,  and  informed  me  that,  having  heard  of  my 
accident,  he  came  to  offer  me  a  seat  in  the  buggy  in 
which  he  was  traveling.  He  was  going  my  way,  and 
would  be  glad  of  a  companion.  This  invitation,  given 
as  it  was  b}'  a  well-appearing  young  man  of  pleasing 
manners,  was,  after  a  little  consideration,  accepted  by 
me.  1  would  much  prefer  to  ride  a  dozen  miles  in  a 
buggy  with  a  stranger  than  on  horseback  alone. 


42  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

The  drive  of  the  afternoon  was  very  different  from 
what  I  had  expected  it  to  be,  but  it  was  not  devoid 
of  some  pleasant  features.  My  companion  was  socia- 
ble, and  not  too  communicative ;  although  he  annoyed 
me  very  much  by  giving  me  the  entirely  uncalled-for 
information  that  if  I  had  had  short  straps  from  the 
tnds  of  the  shafts  to  the  axle,  which  no  well-ordered 
buggy  should  be  without,  the  accident  would  not  have 
Dccurred.  I  passed  this  by,  and  our  conversation 
became  more  general,  and  to  me  more  acceptable. 
The  young  man  was  going  to  Harnden,  a  village 
not  far  from  my  house,  where  he  appeared  to  have 
some  business,  and  he  assured  me  that  he  would  not 
object  in  the  least  to  go  a  little  out  of  his  way  and 
set  me  down  at  my  door. 

"We  reached  Eastover  quite  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
[  perceived,  from  the  group  on  the  porch,  that  Miss 
Kitty  had  arrived.  All  three  of  the  ladies  came  down 
to  meet  me,  evidently  very  much  surprised  to  see 
me  in  a  strange  vehicle.  When  I  alighted,  and  was 
hastily  explaining  to  my  sisters  the  cause  of  this 
change  of  conveyance,  I  was  surprised  to  see  Miss 
Kitty  shaking  hands  with  the  young  man,  who  was 
standing  by  his  horse's  head.  My  elder  sister,  Grace 
Anna,  who  had  also  noticed  this  meeting,  now  ap- 
proached the  pair,  and  was  introduced  to  the  gentle- 
man. In  a  few  moments  she  returned  to  me,  who  had 
been  regarding  the  interview  with  silent  amazement. 

"It  is  Harve}'  Glade,"  she  said,  —  *'  Kitty's  cousin. 
Ve  should  invite  him  to  stay  here  to-night." 

I  can  not  conceive  of  anything  which  more  quickl5 


A  STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  43 

than  these  words  would  have  snuffed  out  the  light 
which  had  illumined  the  vision  of  my  house  with 
Kitty  in  it ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  forget 
that  I  was  a  gentleman  and  the  master  of  Eastover, 
and,  instantly  causing  my  perception  of  these  facts  to 
take  precedence  of  my  gathering  emotions,  1  stepped 
up  to  Miss  Kitty,  and,  asking  to  be  introduced  to  her 
cousin,  I  begged  him  to  make  my  house  his  home 
during  his  stay  in  the  neighborhood. 

This  invitation  was  accepted,  as  I  supposed  it  would 
be  when  I  made  it;  yet  I  must  own  that  I  did  not 
expect  Mr.  Glade  to  remain  at  my  house  for  a  week. 
Of  course  his  presence  prevented  the  execution  of  any 
of  my  plans  regarding  the  promotion  of  my  intimacy 
with  Kitty  ;  but  although  the  interruption  caused  me 
much,  vexation,  I  maintained  the  equanimity  due  to  my 
position,  and  hoped  each  day  that  the  young  man  would 
take  his  leave.  Towards  the  end  of  his  visit  I  became 
aware,  through  the  medium  of  my  sisters,  to  whom  I 
had  left  in  a  great  degree  the  entertainment  of  oui 
guests,  that  3'oung  Glade  was  actually  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Kitty.  She  had  told  them  so  herself. 
This  statement,  which  chilled  to  the  verge  of  frigidity 
my  every  sensibility,  was  amplified  as  follows :  The 
young  people  had  been  attached  to  each  other  for 
some  time,  but  the  visits  of  Glade  having  been  dis- 
ccuraged  by  Miss  Kitty's  family,  they  had  not  seen 
e£ch  other  lately,  and  there  had  been  no  positive  dec- 
laration of  amatory  sentiment  on  the  part  of  either. 
But  this  protracted  sojourn  in  my  house  had  given  the 
young  man  all  the  opportunity  he  could  desire,  and 


44  A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

the  matter  was  settled  so  definitely  that  there  was 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  better  judgment  of  her 
elders  would  cause  the  young  woman  to  change  her 
mind. 

Here  was  a  fine  ending  to  my  endeavors  to  assist 
my  fate.  Instead  of  so  doing,  I  had  assisted  the 
fate  of  Mr.  Harvey  Glade,  in  whose  welfare  I  had 
no  interest  whatever.  He  had  not  known  that  Miss 
Kitty  was  coming  to  my  house ;  he  had  not  even  been 
aware,  until  he  met  her  at  Eastover,  that  I  was  ac- 
quainted with  her  family.  Had  it  not  been  for  my 
endeavors  to  promote  my  own  fortune  in  the  direction 
of  the  lady,  he  would  have  had  no  opportunity  to  make 
her  his  own ;  and  they  probably  would  not  have  seen 
each  other  again,  unless  he  had  happened  to  call  upon 
her  as  the  mistress  of  Eastover.  Instead  of  aiding 
Miss  Kitty  to  enter  my  life  on  the  14th  of  September, 
I  had  ushered  her  into  his  life  on  the  16  th  of  that 
month. 

For  a  week  after  the  departure  of  our  guests  —  the 
young  man  went  first  —  I  found  myself  in  a  state  of 
mental  depression  from  which  the  kindly  efforts  of  my 
sisters  could  not  arouse  me.  Not  only  was  I  deeply 
chagrined  at  what  had  occurred,  but  it  wounded  my 
self-respect  to  think  that  my  fate,  which  had  been 
satisfactorily  pursuing  the  course  I  had  marked  out 
for  it,  should  have  been  thus  suddenly  and  disastrously 
turned  aside.  I  felt  that  I  must  confess  myself  con- 
quered. It  was  an  unusual  and  a  difficult  thing  for 
me  to  do  this,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  took 
out  my  diary,  and  turned  to  the  page  whereon  I  had 


A   STORY    OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  45 

challenged  fate.  That  entry  must  be  erased.  I  must 
humble  myself,  and  acknowledge  it  untrue. 

At  the  moment  that  I  dipped  the  pen  in  the  inkstand 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Qrace  Anna  en- 
tered. 

*'I  have  just  had  a  letter,"  she  said,  "from  dear 
Jane  Wiltby,  who  married  your  old  schoolfellow,  Dr. 
Tom.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  the  news  it 
contains.  They  have  a  little  girl,  and  she  is  to  be 
named  for  me." 

"  How  old  is  it?  "  I  asked,  with  indifferent  interest. 

"  She  was  born  on  the  14th  of  September,"  said 
Grace  Anna. 

I  sat  erect,  and  looked  at  my  sister  —  looked  at  her 
without  seeing  her.  Thoughts,  like  clouds  upon  the 
horizon  brightened  by  the  rays  of  dawn,  piled  them- 
selves up  in  my  mind-  Dr.  Tom,  the  companion  of 
my  youth,  ever  my  cherished  friend !  Jane,  woman 
above  women  !     Grace  Anna  ! 

I  laid  down  the  pen,  and,  leaving  the  momentous 
and  prognostic  entry  just  as  I  had  written  it,  I  closed 
m}'  diary,  and  placed  it  in  my  desk. 

He  who  can  not  adapt  himself  to  the  vagaries  of  a 
desired  fate,  who  can  not  place  himself  upon  the  road 
by  which  he  expects  it  to  come,  and  who  can  not  wait 
for  it  with  cheerful  confidence  is  not  worthy  to  be 
an  assistant  arbiter  of  his  destiny. 


46  A  STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 


II. 


The  fact  that  on  the  day  indicated  in  my  diary  a 
young  creature  not  only  came  into  m}"  life,  but  into 
her  own,  greatly  satisfied  and  encouraged  me.  I 
would  begin  at  the  beginning.  Within  the  sphere  of 
my  immediate  cognizance  would  grow  and  develop  the 
infant,  the  child,  the  girl,  the  woman,  and,  finally,  the 
wife.  What  influence  might  I  not  have  upon  this 
development  ?  The  parents  were  my  friends  ;  the  child 
was  my  selected  bride.  The  possibilities  of  advanta- 
geous guidance,  unseen  perhaps,  but  potent  to  a  degree 
unattainable  by  a  mere  parent  or  guardian,  were,  to 
my  thinking,  boundless. 

I  was  now  more  content  than  I  had  been  in  the  case 
of  the  young  lad}-  whom  I  had  supposed  had  been 
given  me  by  Fate,  but  who,  it  now  appeared  very  fortu- 
nately, had  been  snatched  away  before  my  irrevocable 
mistake  had  been  made.  I  was  very  grateful  for  this  : 
I  was  grateful  to  Fate  ;  I  was  grateful  to  Mr.  Glade, 
the  successful  lover ;  I  was  even  grateful  to  Kitty  for 
not  having  allowed  herself  to  be  influenced  by  any- 
thing she  may  have  seen  in  me  during  our  short  ac- 
quaintance. Of  the  past  of  Kitty  I  knew  little,  as  was 
well  demonstrated  by  the  appearance  of  Harvey  Glade. 
My  present  fiancee  had  no  past.     With  her  and  with 


A    STORY   OF  ASSISTED    FATE.  47 

me  it  was  all  future,  which  would  gently  crystallize, 
minute  by  minute  and  day  by  day,  into  a  present  whick 
would  be  mutually  our  own. 

Of  course  I  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  any  one.  The 
knowledge  of  our  destiny  was  locked  up  in  the  desk 
which  held  my  diary  and  in  my  own  heart.  When 
the  proper  time  came,  she,  first,  should  know.  I  am 
an  honorable  man,  and  as  such  felt  fully  qualified  to 
be  the  custodian  of  what  was,  in  fact,  her  secret  as 
well  as  mine. 

I  took  an  early  opportunity  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  one  who  was  to  be  the  future  partner  of  my 
life.  It  was  towards  the  end  of  October,  I  think,  that 
I  paid  a  visit  to  Dr.  Tom  Wiltby  and  his  wife  Jane, 
my  predestined  parents-in-law.  Had  they  known  the 
lX)sitiou  they  occupied  towards  me,  they  would  have 
been  a  ver}'  much  surprised  couple.  The  interest  I 
exhibited  in  their  first-born  did,  as  I  thought,  surprise 
them  a  little,  but  it  only  increased  the  warmth  of  the 
welcome  they  gave  me,  and  drew  me  closer  to  their 
hearts.  The  emotions  which  possessed  me  when,  in 
the  preceding  summer,  I  had  stood  awaiting  the  mo- 
ment when  Kitty  Watridge  should  enter  the  room  and 
first  present  herself  to  my  siglit  were  nothing  to  those 
which  quickened  the  action  of  my  heart  as  a  nurse 
brought  into  the  Wiltby  parlor  a  carefully  disposed 
bundle  of  drapery,  in  the  midst  of  which  reposed  my 
future  wife. 

I  approached,  and  looked  at  her.  Her  face  was  dis- 
played to  view,  but  her  form  was  undistinguishable. 
For  an  instant  our  eyes  met ;  but,  so  far  as  I  could 


48  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

judge,  no  spark  of  reciprocal  sympath}^  seemed  to  shine 
from  hers.  In  fact,  they  rolled  about  in  an  irrelevant 
manner  which  betokened  a  preoccupation  so  intense 
that  even  the  advent  of  a  husband  could  have  no  effect 
upon  it.  But  whatever  the  child  had  on  its  mind  —  or 
stomach — gave  a  volcanic  mobility  to  its  countenance, 
which  caused  me  much  to  wonder.  The  eyes  then 
closed,  and  appeared  to  be  writhing  and  swelling  be- 
neath their  lids  ;  the  mouth  was  alternatel}^  convoluted 
and  unrolled  towards  nose,  cheeks,  and  chin ;  while 
the  rest  of  the  face,  which  had  been  of  an  Indian  red- 
dish hue,  now  darkened,  and  from  the  puffy  jaws  to 
the  top  of  the  bald  head  seemed  moved  by  a  spasm, 
but  whether  of  premonition  or  despair  I  could  not 
tell. 

I  withdrew  my  gaze.  It  might  be  well  that  I  should 
wait  for  a  time  before  allowing  my  eyes  to  feed  upon 
this  countenance. 

I  went  away  a  little  disappointed.  The  chaoticness 
of  initiatory  existence  had  never  before  been  so  forci- 
bly impressed  on  my  mind. 

During  the  following  winter  and  spring  I  built  up  an 
ideal,  or  rather  a  series  of  ideals.  They  were  little 
children,  they  were  girls,  they  were  women.  At  about 
nineteen  years  of  age  the  individual  existence  of  each 
ended,  and  became  merged  into  the  oneness  of  my 
matrimonial  life.  Sometimes  my  ideal  was  a  blonde, 
sometimes  a  brunette.  From  the  cursory  glance  I  had 
had  of  the  one  to  whom  all  these  fancies  referred,  I 
could  not  judge  whether  she  would  be  dark  or  fair. 
She  had  no  hair,  and  all  that  I  could  remember  of  her 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  49 

eyes  was  that  they  had  no  soul  light.  Her  father  was 
dark,  her  mother  fair:  she  might  be  either. 

Of  all  the  legendary  heroines  of  love,  none  ever  so 
impressed  me  as  that  Francesca  whose  strong  love  not 
only  braved  every  prejudice  and  barrier  of  earth,  but, 
according  to  eye-witnesses  of  the  fact,  floated  with  her 
indefinitely  through  hell.  In  verse  and  picture,  and 
upon  the  stage,  I  knew  Francesca  well, — better,  per- 
haps, than  any  other  woman.  But  to  such  an  one  I 
would  not  be  merely  a  Paolo,  but  the  elder  brother  also. 
I  would  have  no  proxy,  no  secret  love,  no  unfaithful- 
ness. There  should  be  all  the  impetuosity,  all  the 
spirit  of  self-immolation,  without  any  necessity  for  it. 
She  who  was  to  be  mine  had  become  in  my  thoughts 
a  Francesca,  and  she  grew  before  my  mind  to  ripened 
loveliness.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  rapture  when,  as 
through  the  gates  of  old  Ravenna,  the  fair  Ghibelline 
first  saw  the  brave  rider  that  she  thought  to  wed,  so 
this  one  would  see  through  the  gates  of  womanly  con- 
sciousness, not  a  mere  envoy,  but  both  Malatesta 
brothers  in  one, — lover  and  husband,  —  me.  With 
such  an  imaginary  one  1  read  legends  of  old  loves ; 
with  such  an  one  I  sat  in  shaded  bowers,  her  young 
face  upturned  to  mine,  and  the  red  light  from  the 
wings  touching  with  color  the  passionate  picture.  But 
no  jester  watched  with  sneering  gibes,  no  husband 
fought  afar  on  battle-field ;  Paolo  and  Lanciotto  in 
one  looked  into  the  uplifted  eyes. 

It  was  in  the  early  summer  that  my  two  sisters  and 
myself  were  invited  to  the  Wiltby  mansion  for  a  visit, 
which  our  kindly  hosts  hoped  would  be  somewhat  pro- 


50  A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

tracted.  Among  other  things  that  were  to  be  done  the 
baby  was  to  be  baptized,  and  Grace  Anna,  for  whom 
she  was  named,  was  to  act  as  godmother.  I  was  very 
glad  to  make  this  visit.  Quite  a  long  time  had  now 
elapsed  since  my  first  interview  with  Francesca,  as  I 
always  intended  to  call  her,  notwithstanding  the  name 
that  might  be  bestowed  upon  her  by  the  church ;  and 
she  must  have  now  begun  to  foreshadow,  in  a  measure, 
that  whicli  she  was  to  be. 

When  I  saw  her  I  found  that  there  was  not  quite  so 
much  foreshadowing  as  I  had  expected  ;  but,  in  spite 
of  that,  she  was  a  little  creature  whom,  without  doing 
violence  to  any  aesthetic  instinct,  I  could  take  to  my 
heart.  She  was  a  pudgy  infant,  with  blue  eyes,  a 
blankety  head,  and  a  mouth  that  was  generally  ready 
to  break  into  a  smile  if  you  tickled  the  corners  of  it. 
Instead  of  the  long  and  flowing  draperies  in  which  J 
first  beheld  her,  she  now  wore  short  dresses,  and  that 
she  possessed  remarkably  fat  legs  and  blue  woolen 
socks  was  a  fact  which  Francesca  never  failed  to  en- 
deavor to  impress  upon  my  observation.  I  excited  a 
great  deal  of  surprise,  with  some  admiration  on  the 
part  of  the  mother  and  occasional  jocular  remarks 
from  Bertha,  my  3'ounger  sister,  by  showing,  at  the 
very  beginning  of  our  visit,  a  strong  preference  for 
the  society  of  the  baby.  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take 
her  into  my  arms,  and  walk  with  her  into  the  garden  ; 
and  although  this  privilege  was  at  first  denied  me, 
unless  some  lady  should  accompany  me,  I  being  con- 
sidered quite  inexperienced  in  the  care  of  an  infant,  I 
at  last  gained  my  point,  and  frequently  had  the  picas- 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  51 

ure  of  a  tete-cl-tete  stroll  with  Francesca.  With  my 
future  bride  in  my  arms,  slowly  walking  in  the  shaded 
avenues  of  the  garden,  I  gave  my  imagination  full 
play.  I  enlarged  her  eyes,  and  gave  them  a  steadi- 
n2ss  of  upturn  which  they  did  not  now  possess ;  the 
white  fuzz  upon  her  head  grew  into  rich  masses  of 
gold-brown  hair  ;  the  nose  was  lengthened  and  refined  ; 
her  lips  were  less  protruded,  and  made  more  continu- 
ously dry ;  while  a  good  deal  of  fatty  deposit  was 
removed  from  the  cheeks  and  the  second  chin.  As  I 
walked  thus  tenderly  gazing  down  upon  her,  and  often 
removing  her  little  fist  from  her  mouth,  I  pictured  in 
her  lineaments  the  budding  womanhood  for  which  I 
waited.  I  would  talk  softly  to  her,  and  although  she 
seldom  answered  but  in  a  gurgling  monotone  I  saw  in 
our  intercourse  the  dawning  of  a  unity  to  be. 

After  we  had  been  a  few  days  at  the  Wiltby  house 
Miss  Kitty  Watridge  came  there,  also  on  a  visit.  Her 
engagement  to  Mr.  Glade  had  not  produced  much 
effect  upon  her  personal  appearance,  although  I  thought 
her  somethiug  quieter,  and  with  a  little  sedateness 
which  I  had  not  observed  in  her  before.  Her  advent 
at  this  time  was  not  to  my  liking.  As  an  object  of 
my  regard,  she  had,  in  becoming  engaged  to  another, 
ceased  to  exist ;  she  had  passed  out  of  my  sphere  of 
consideration,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  once  acted  a 
prominent  part  within  it  made  it  appear  to  me  that 
propriety  demanded  that  she  should  not  only  go  out  of 
it,  but  stay  out  of  it.  Her  influence  upon  my  inter- 
course with  Francesca  was,  from  the  first,  objectiona- 
ble.   My  sisters  had  alwaj's  been  accustomed  to  regard 


52  A  STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE. 

my  wishes  with  a  gratifying  respect,  and  Mrs  Wiltby 
seemed  anxious  to  imitate  them  in  this  laudable  action. 
But  Miss  Watridge  had  apparently  no  such  ideas,  and 
she  showed  this  most  objectionably  by  imagining  that 
she  had  as  much  right  to  the  baby  as  I  had.  Of  course 
she  could  not  understand  how  matters  stood,  — nobody 
but  myself  could  understand  that ;  but  she  had  not  the 
native  delicacy  of  perception  of  my  sisters  and  Jane 
Wiltby.  She  could  not  know  in  how  many  ways  she 
interfered  with  my  desires  and  purposes.  My  morning 
walks  were,  in  a  manner,  broken  up ;  for  sometimes 
the  new-comer  actually  insisted  upon  carrying  the  baby 
herself,  in  which  case  I  retired,  and  sought  some  other 
promenade.  But  after  a  few  daj's  I  found  that  the 
indulgence  of  any  resentment  of  this  sort  not  only 
made  me  the  object  of  remark,  but  promised  to  en- 
tirely break  up  my  plans  in  regard  to  Francesca.  I 
wished  to  create  in  my  mind  while  here  such  an  image 
of  her,  matured  and  perfected  according  to  my  own 
ideas,  that  I  could  live  and  commune  with  her  during 
the  absences,  more  or  less  protracted,  which  must  in- 
tervene before  the  day  when  I  should  take  her  wholly 
to  myself.  As  I  could  not  expect  to  stay  here  very 
much  longer,  I  must  not  lose  what  opportunities  I  had, 
and  so  concluded  to  resume  my  walks  with  Francesca, 
even  if  Miss  Watridge  should  sometimes  intrude  her- 
self upon  us. 

I  must  admit,  however,  that  this  she  did  not  do, 
considering  the  matter  with  strict  regard  to  fact.  She 
generally  possessed  herself  of  the  baby,  and  if  I 
wished   its  company  I  was  obliged  to  intrude  myself 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  53 

apon  her.  The  plan  I  now  adopted  was,  I  think, 
somewhat  ingenious.  As  is  my  wont,  I  endeavored 
to  shape  to  my  advantage  this  obstacle  which  I  now 
found  in  my  way.  My  intercourse  with  Francesca 
had  not  been  altogether  satisfactory.  For  one  thing, 
there  had  been  too  much  unity  about  it.  A  certain 
degree  of  this  was,  indeed,  desirable,  but  I  was  obliged 
to  be,  at  once,  not  only  husband  and  lover,  but  lady 
also ;  for  Francesca  gave  me  no  help  in  this  regard, 
except,  perchance,  an  occasional  look  of  entreaty, 
which  might  as  well  mean  that  she  would  like  a  bottle 
of  milk  as  that  she  yearned  for  fond  communion  of 
the  soul.  When  I  addressed  her  as  my  developed 
ideal  I  imagined  her  answers,  and  so  continued  the 
gentle  conversation  ;  but,  although  she  alwaj's  spoke 
as  I  would  wish,  there  were  absent  from  our  converse 
certain  desirable  elements  which  might  have  been 
looked  for  from  the  presence  of  a  second  intellect. 
Another  source  of  dissatisfaction  was  that  in  many  of 
our  interviews  Francesca  acted  in  a  manner  which  was 
not  only  disturbing,  but  indecorous.  Frequently,  when 
I  was  speaking  with  her  on  such  subjects  as  foreign 
travel,  when  we  two  would  wander  amid  the  misty 
purples  of  Caprian  sunsets,  or  stand  together  in  vast 
palaces  of  hoarded  art,  she  would  struggle  so  convul- 
sively, and  throw  upward  with  such  violence  her  small 
blue  socks,  that,  for  the  time,  I  wished  she  was  swad- 
dled and  bound  in  the  manner  of  the  Delia  Robbia 
babies  on  the  front  of  the  Foundling  Asylum  in  Flor- 
ence. 

A  plan  of  relieving  myself  from  the  obvious  disad- 


54  A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

vantages  of  my  present  method  of  intercourse  with  an 
intellect,  a  soul,  and  a  person,  which  to  be  suitable  for 
my  companionship  must  necessarily  be  projected  into 
the  future,  now  suggested  itself  to  me.  If  Miss  Wat- 
ridge  persisted  in  forcing  herself  upon  Francesca,  she 
might  at  least  make  herself  useful  by  taking  the  place 
of  that  young  person  so  far  as  regarded  a  part  in  the 
conversation.  Her  entity  occupied  a  position  in  re- 
spect to  growth  and  development  which  was  about  the 
same  as  that  to  which  I  was  in  the  habit  of  projecting 
Francesca.  Her  answers  to  my  remarks  would  be 
analogous,  if  not  similar,  to  those  which  might  be  ex- 
pected from  the  baby  when  she  arrived  at  maturity. 
Thus,  in  a  manner,  I  could  talk  to  Francesca,  and 
receive  her  answers  from  the  lips  of  Miss  Kitty.  This 
would  be  as  truly  love-making  by  proxy  as  when  the 
too  believing  Lanciotto  sent  from  Rimini  his  younger 
brother  to  bear  to  him  Ravenna's  pearl.  But  here 
was  no  guile,  no  dishonesty ;  the  messenger,  the 
vehicle,  the  interpreter,  in  this  case,  knew  nothing  of 
the  feelmgs  now  in  action,  or  to  be  set  in  action,  of 
the  principals  in  the  affair.  She  did  not  know,  in- 
deed, that  there  were  two  principals.  As  far  as  she 
herself  was  concerned,  she  had,  and  could  have,  no 
interest  in  the  matter.  She  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Mr.  Glade,  which,  in  my  eyes,  was  the  same  thing 
as  being  already  married  to  him  ;  and  any  thoughts  or 
mental  emotions  that  she  might  have  relating  to  affec- 
tionate interest  in  one  of  the  opposite  sex  would  of 
course  be  centered  in  Mr.  Glade.  With  Francesca 
and  myself  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  but  uncon- 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  55 

sciously  to  assist  in  the  transmission  of  sentiment. 
Had  Paolo  been  engaged  to  many  a  suitable  young 
person  before  he  started  for  Ravenna,  it  is  probable  that 
the  limited  partnership  which  Dante  noticed  in  the 
Inferno  would  never  have  been  formed. 

It  was  by  slow  degrees,  and  with  a  good  deal  of 
caution,  that  I  began  my  new  course  of  action.  Tak- 
ing the  child  in  my  arms,  I  invited  Miss  Watridge  to 
accompany  us  in  our  walk.  Thus,  together,  we  slowly 
strolled  along  the  garden  avenue,  shaded  by  the  fresh 
greenness  of  June  foliage,  and  flecked  here  and  there 
by  patches  of  sunlight,  which  moved  upon  the  gravel 
in  unison  with  the  gentle  breeze.  Our  conversation, 
at  first  relating  to  simple  and  e very-day  matters,  was 
soon  directed  by  me  into  a  channel  in  which  I  could 
perceive  whether  or  not  I  should  succeed  in  this  project 
of  representative  rejoinder.  It  was  not  long  before  I 
was  pleased  to  discover  that  the  mind  of  the  young 
lady  was  of  as  good  natural  quality  and  as  well  culti- 
vated as  I  had  formerly  supposed  it  to  be  ;  having  then 
little  upon  which  to  base  my  judgment,  except  the 
general  impression  which  her  personality  had  made 
upon  me.  That  impression  having  been  entirely  ef- 
faced, I  was  enabled  with  clearer  vision  and  sounder 
judgment  to  determine  the  value  of  her  mental  exhibit. 
I  found  that  she  had  read  with  some  discrimination, 
and  with  a  tendency  to  independent  thought  she  united 
a  becoming  respect  for  the  opinions  of  those  who,  by 
reason  of  superior  years,  experience,  and  sex,  might 
be  supposed  to  move  on  a  psychological  plane  some- 
what higher  than  her  own.     These  were  dispositions 


56  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE, 

the  development  of  which  I  hoped  to  assist  in  the 
young  Francesca,  and  it  may  be  imagined  that  I  was 
much  gratified  to  find  my  model  so  closely  resembling 
that  personality  which  1  wished,  in  a  manner,  to  create. 

Thus,  up  and  down,  daily,  would  we  stroll  and  talk. 
With  the  real  Francesca  on  my  arm,  sometimes  sleep- 
ing, and  sometimes  indulging  in  disturbing  muscular 
exercises,  which  I  gently  endeavored  to  restrain,  I 
addressed  myself  to  my  ideal  Francesca,  an  aerial 
maiden,  garbed  in  simple  robes  of  white  touched  by  a 
soft  suggestion  of  Italian  glow,  and  ever  with  tender 
eyes  upturned  to  mine  ;  while  from  her  proxy,  walking 
by  my  side,  came  to  me  the  thoughts  and  sentiments 
of  her  fresh  young  heart. 

It  was  quite  natural  that  I  should  be  more  interested 
in  a  conversation  of  this  kind  than  in  one  in  which  I 
was  obliged  to  supply  the  remarks  on  either  side.  To 
be  sure,  in  the  latter  case,  there  was  a  unison  of 
thought  between  myself  and  the  ideal  Francesca  that 
was  very  satisfactory,  but  which  lacked  the  piquancy 
given  by  unexpectedness  of  reply  and  the  interest  con- 
sequent upon  gentle  argument. 

It  so  happened  that  the  morning  occupations  of 
Mrs.  Wiltby  and  my  sisters  were  those  in  which  Miss 
Watridge  did  not  care  to  join,  and  thus  she  was  com- 
monly left  free  to  make  one  of  the  company  of  four 
which  took  its  morning  walks  upon  the  garden  avenue. 
I  imagine  that  she  supposed  it  was  generally  thought 
that  she  was  taking  care  of  the  baby  and  affording 
it  advantages  of  out-door  air,  in  the  performance  of 
which  pleasing  duty  my  presence  was  so  unnecessary 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  57 

that  the  probability  of  it  was  not  even  considered. 
Thus  it  was  that  upon  every  fair  day — and  all  those 
days  were  fair  —  our  morning  strolls  were  prolonged 
for  an  hour  or  more,  generally  terminated  only  by  the 
culminating  resolve  of  Francesca  to  attract  to  herself 
so  much  attention  that  a  return  to  the  house  was  ne- 
cessary. It  may  be  supposed  that  it  would  have  been 
better  to  have  eliminated  the  element  of  the  actual 
being  from  the  female  side  of  our  little  company.  But 
that  side,  several  as  it  was  in  its  component  person- 
ages, represented  to  me  the  one  Francesca ;  and  had 
I  not  held  and  felt  the  presence  of  the  actual  living 
creature,  who  was  to  be  and  to  say  all  that  my  mind 
saw  and  my  ear  heard,  I  could  not  have  spoken  as  I 
wished  to  speak  to  the  ideality  who  was  to  be  my  wife 
when  it  became  a  reality.  The  conjunction  seemed  to 
me  a  perfect  one,  and  under  the  circumstances  I  could 
wish  for  nothing  better. 

As  our  acquaintance  ripened  and  mellowed  in  the 
pleasant  summer  days,  I  was  enabled  to  see  more 
clearly  into  the  soul  and  heart  of  the  Francesca  that 
was  to  be,  looking  at  them  through  the  transparent 
mind  of  Miss  Kitty  Watridge.  According  to  the  pur- 
suance of  my  plan,  I  gradually,  and  as  far  as  possible 
imperceptibly,  changed  the  nature  of  our  converse. 
From  talking  of  the  material  world,  and  those  objects 
in  it  which  had  pleased  our  vision  or  excited  reflection, 
we  passed  to  the  consideration,  very  cursory  at  first, 
of  those  sentiments  which  appear  to  emanate  from  our- 
selves without  the  aid  of  extraneous  agency.  Then, 
by  slow  degrees,  the  extraneous  agency  was  allowed 


58  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

to  enter  upon  the  scene,  coming  in  so  quietly  that  at 
first  it  was  scarcely  noticeable.  The  dependence  of 
man  upon  man  was  discussed,  not  only  for  material 
good,  but  for  intellectual  support  and  comfort.  Then, 
following  a  course  not  exactly  in  accordance  with  that 
of  nature,  but  which  suited  my  purposes,  we  spoke  of 
social  ties,  —  of  the  friendships  which  spring  up  here 
and  there  from  these ;  of  the  natural  affections  of  the 
family ;  and,  finally,  the  subject  arising  in  consistent 
sequence,  of  that  congruent  intermental  action  of  the 
intellect  of  two  persons,  generally  male  and  female, 
who  frequentl}',  without  family  ties  of  any  kind  and 
but  little  previous  acquaintanceship,  find,  each  in  the 
other,  an  adaptiveness  of  entity  which  is  mutually 
satisfactory. 

The  vicarious  replies  of  Francesca  were,  in  almost 
every  instance,  all  that  I  could  have  wished.  Some- 
times there  were  symptoms  of  hesitancy  or  reluctance 
in  the  enunciation  of  what  was,  obviously,  the  suit- 
able reply  to  some  of  my  remarks  in  regard  to  the 
deeper  sentiments ;  but,  on  the  whole,  had  the  ideal 
lady  of  my  love  spoken  to  me,  her  words  could 
not  have  better  aroused  my  every  sentiment  of  warm 
regard. 

Sometimes  I  wondered,  as  thus  we  walked  and 
talked,  what  Mr.  Glade  would  think  about  it  if  he 
could  see  us  so  much  together,  and  listen  to  our  con- 
verse. But  this  thought  I  put  aside  as  unworthy  of 
me.  It  was  an  insult  to  myself  as  an  honorable  man  ; 
it  was  an  uncalled-for  aspersion  on  Miss  Watridge, 
and  a  stain  upon  my  idealistic  intercourse  with  Fran- 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE.  59 

oesca.  If  Mr.  Glade  was  coarse  and  vulgar  enough 
to  interject  his  personality  into  this  perfectly  working 
system  of  intellectual  action,  from  which  the  individ- 
uality of  Miss  Watridge  was  entirely  eliminated,  her 
part  in  it  being  merely  to  represent  another,  I  could 
not  help  it.  It  was  this  consciousnesa  of  rectitude, 
this  probity  of  purpose,  which  raised  our  little  drama 
so  far  above  the  level  of  the  old  story  of  the  wedded 
Guelph  and  Ghibelline. 

With  my  mind  satisfied  on  this  subject,  I  did  not 
hesitate,  when  the  proper  time  seemed  to  have  arrived, 
to  allow  myself  to  imagine  Francesca  at  the  age  of 
nineteen.  I  could  not  much  longer  remain  in  this 
place,  as  we  had  now  overstayed  the  original  limit  of 
our  visit ;  and  there  was  danger,  too,  that  Miss  Wat- 
ridge might  be  called  away.  I  wished,  while  the 
opportunity  continued,  to  develop  the  imaginary  life  of 
Francesca  into  perfect  womanhood,  so  that  I  could 
carry  away  with  me  an  image  of  my  future  wife,  which 
I  could  set  upon  the  throne  of  my  affection,  there  to 
be  revered,  cherished,  and  guarded,  until  the  time 
came  when  the  real  Francesca  should  claim  the  seat. 
Of  course,  under  these  circumstances,  a  certain  fervor 
of  thought  and  expression  was  not  only  necessary,  but 
excusable,  and  I  did  not  scruple  to  allow  it  to  myself. 
Always  with  the  real  Francesca  in  my  arms,  in  order 
that  even  my  own  superconscientiousness  might  not 
take  me  to  task,  I  delivered  my  sentiments  without 
drawing  the  veil  of  precautionary  expression  over  their 
amatory  significance.  It  was  at  this  stage  of  our 
intercourse  that  I  asked  Miss  Watridge  to  allow  me  to 


60  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

call  her  Francesca ;  for  it  was  only  by  so  doing  that  I 
could  fully  identify  her  voice  with  that  of  the  visionary 
creature  who  was  now  exciting  the  stirring  impulses  of 
my  heart.  When  she  asked  me  why  I  wished  to  call 
her  by  this  name,  I  could  only  tell  her  that  it  was  for 
ideal  purposes  ;  and  without  making  further  inquiries, 
she  consented  that  I  should  use  it  —  for  the  present. 
As  it  was  only  for  the  present  that  I  thought  of  so 
doing,  this  much  of  acquiescence  was  sufficient,  and  I 
called  her  by  the  name  I  loved. 

The  softly-spoken,  well-considered  replies,  the  gentle 
ejaculations,  and  the  demure  but  earnest  attention 
which  my  speech  elicited  well  befitted  the  fairest  vision 
of  pure  young  womanhood  that  my  soul  could  call 
before  me.  But,  notwithstanding  this,  there  was  some 
thing  wanting.  I  longed  for  the  upturned  eyes,  ever 
fixed  upon  my  own,  of  the  Francesca  of  the  stage.  I 
longed  for  the  fair  white  hands  clasped  and  trembling 
as  I  spoke.  I  longed  for  that  intensity  of  soul-merge 
in  which  the  loved  one  breathes  and  live?  only  that  she 
may  hear  the  words  I  speak,  and  watch  the  thoughts 
that  fashion  in  my  face.  Without  all  this  I  could 
never  take  away  with  me  the  image  of  th«  true  Fran- 
cesca. Without  this  there  would  be  wanting,  in  the 
fair  conception,  that  artistic  roundness,  that  complete- 
ness of  outline  and  purpose,  which  would  satisfy  the 
exigencies  of  my  nature.  I  could  not  consent  to  carry 
with  me  for  years  an  ideal  existence,  incomplete, 
imperfected,  —  a  statue  devoid  of  those  last  touches  of 
the  master  which  make  it  seem  to  live. 

Therefore    I    sought,   with   much  earnestness   and 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  61 

fixity  of  intention,  to  call  up  the  last  element  needed 
to  complete  that  lovely  creation  which  was  to  be  my 
companion  through  the  j^ears  of  waiting  for  the  real 
Francesca.  It  was  a  great  comfort  and  support  to  me 
to  reflect  that  I  could  do  this  with  such  safety,  with 
such  unusual  adv^antages.  I  addressed  myself  to  no 
being  in  existence.  Even  the  little  creature  on  my 
arm,  who  had  fallen  into  a  habit  of  dozing  when  not 
noticed,  and  to  whom  belonged,  in  fact,  my  every  gift 
and  legacy  of  love,  was  not  of  age  to  come  into  her 
fortune,  nor  could  her  infantile  mind  be  injured  by  its 
contemplation.  And  as  for  Miss  Watridge,  she,  as  I 
continually  repeated  to  myself,  was  acting  simply  as 
the  representative  of  another,  and  her  real  self  was  not 
concerned  in  the  little  drama,  in  which  she  did  not  even 
take  a  part ;  merely  assuming,  as  in  a  rehearsal,  a 
character  which  another  actor,  not  able  then  to  be 
present,  would  play  in  the  actual  performance. 

It  was  the  loveliest  morning  of  all  the  summer  that 
I  made  my  supreme  effort.  At  the  very  bottom  of  the 
garden  was  a  little  arbor  of  honeysuckles.  No  crimson 
stage-light  shone  in  upon  it,  but  the  sunbeams  pushed 
their  way  here  and  there  through  the  screen  of  leaves, 
and  brightened  the  interior  with  points  of  light.  It 
was  a  secluded  spot,  to  which  I  had  never  yet  led  my 
companions,  for  the  period  had  not  before  arrived  for 
such  sequesterment.  But  now  we  sat  down  here  upon 
a  little  bench :  I  at  one  end,  the  young  Francesca  on 
my  knee,  and  Miss  Watridge  at  my  left.  In  the  place 
where  this  lady  sat  also  sat  the  ideal  Francesca,  oc- 
cupying the  same  space,  and  endowed,  for  the  time, 


62  A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

with  the  same  form  and  features.  It  was  to  this  being 
that  I  now  addressed  my  fervid  words ;  low-burning, 
it  is  true,  but  alive  with  all  the  heat  and  glow  that 
precedes  blaze.  I  told  a  tale  ;  not  reading  from  pages 
of  mediaeval  script  the  legend  of  the  love  of  Launcelot 
and  Queen  Guinevere,  as  does  Paolo  in  the  play,  but 
relating  a  story  which  was  a  true  one,  for  it  was  my 
own.  I  spoke  as  I  expected  to  speak  some  day  to  the 
little  creature  on  my  knee.  Taking  with  my  disengaged 
hand  that  of  the  lady  by  my  side,  I  said  that  which 
raised  a  lovely  countenance  to  mine,  that  showed  me 
the  beauty  of  her  upturned  eyes ;  and  as  I  looked  and 
spoke  I  felt  that  the  very  pulses  of  her  soul  were 
throbbing  in  accord  with  mine.  Here  was  enacting  in 
very  truth  the  scene  I  had  viewed  upon  the  stage,  and 
which  so  often  since  had  risen  before  my  fanc}'. 
Possessed  by  the  spirit  of  this  scene,  carried  onward 
by  that  same  tide  of  passional  emotion  the  gradual  rise 
of  which  it  had  portrayed,  I  gave  myself  up  to  its  in- 
fluences, and  acted  it  out  unto  its  very  culmination.  I 
stooped,  and,  in  the  words  of  the  Arthurian  legend, 
"  I  kissed  her  full  upon  the  mouth." 

Swift  as  the  sudden  fall  of  summer  rain,  I  felt  the 
wild  abandonment  of  clinging  arms  about  m}'  neck,  of 
tears  upon  my  face  that  were  not  mine,  of  words  of 
love  that  I  spoke  not ;  and  it  came  to  me  like  a  flash 
that  she  who  clung  to  me,  and  around  whom  my  arm 
was  passed,  was  Kitty  Watridge,  and  not  a  visionary 
Ghibelline. 

In  the  midst  of  my  varying  emotions  I  clasped  closer 
to  me  the  real  Francesca,  who  thereupon  gave  vent  to 


A   STORY   OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  63 

her  feoliDgs  b}'  parting  wide  her  toothless  gums,  and 
filling  the  summer  air  with  a  long  yell.  At  this  rude 
interruption,  the  arms  fell  from  my  neck,  and  the  face 
was  quickly  withdrawn  from  mine. 

Now  came  hurrying  steps  upon  the  gravel  walk,  and 
my  sister  Bertha  ran  in  upon  us.  "  What  on  earth  are 
you  doing  to  that  baby?"  she  cried.  She  snatched 
the  child  from  me,  and  then  stood  astonished,  gazing 
first  at  me  and  then  at  Kitty,  who  had  started  to  her 
feet,  with  sparkling  tears  still  in  her  eyes  and  a  sun- 
set glow  upon  her  face.  Without  a  word,  the  wicked 
Bertha  laughed  a  little  laugh,  and,  folding  the  child 
within  her  arms,  she  ran  away. 

I  sat  speechless  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  turned  to 
Kitty ;  but  she,  too,  had  gone,  having  fled  in  another 
direction.  I  was  left  alone  :  gone  was  the  real  Fran- 
cesca ;  gone  was  the  fair  ideal ;  gone  was  Kitty.  I 
stood  bewildered,  and,  in  a  manner,  dazed.  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  fallen  from  the  fourteenth  century  into  the 
nineteenth,  and  that  the  shock  had  hurt  me.  I  felt, 
too,  a  sense  of  culpability,  as  if  I  had  been  somewhere 
where  I  had  no  right  to  be  ;  as  if  I  had  been  a  tres- 
passer, a  poacher,  an  intruder  upon  the  times  or  on  the 
rights  of  others.  The  fact  that  I  was  a  strictly  hon- 
orable man,  scorning  perfidy  in  its  ever}"  form,  made 
my  feelings  the  more  poignant.  A  little  reflection 
helped  me  to  understand  it  all.  I  had  carried  out  my 
plan  so  carefully,  with  such  regard  to  its  gradual  devel- 
opment, that  by  degrees  Miss  Watridge  had  grown  into 
the  ideal  Francesca,  and  had  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses  gone  back  with  me  into  the  Middle  Ages,  in 


H4  A    STORY   OF  ASSISTED   FATE. 

order  to  better  portray  my  perfected  ideal.  The  baby 
sitting  on  ray  right  knee,  while  a  future  stage  of  her 
life  was  being  personated  by  the  lady  at  my  side, 
might  belong  to  any  age ;  there  was  nothing  incon- 
gruous in  her  presence  on  the  scene.  It  was  the 
entrance  of  my  sister  Bertha  that  broke  the  spell,  that 
shattered  the  whole  fabric  I  had  so  elaborately  built. 
She  was  of  the  present,  of  to-day,  of  the  exact  second, 
in  which  she  helped  anything  to  happen.  An  imper- 
sonation of  the  Now,  her  coming  banished  every  idea 
of  the  Past  or  Future. 

Like  an  actor  in  a  play,  on  whom  his  e very-day 
clothes  and  the  broad  light  of  day  have  suddenly  fallen, 
I  walked  slowly  to  the  house.  Meeting  my  older 
sister,  Grace  Anna,  near  the  door,  I  took  her  aside, 
and  said  to  her,  "  When  is  Mr.  Glade  expected 
here?" 

"  What  for?  "  she  asked,  with  eyes  dilated. 

"  To  marry  Kitty  Watridge,"  said  I. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  exclaimed  my  sister. 
"  That  match  was  broken  off  last  wmter." 

It  may  well  be  supposed  that,  remembering  what 
Bertha  had  seen,  and  doubtless  imagined  ;  that  remem- 
bering what  Kitty  had  done  and  said ;  and  recalling, 
too,  how  I  felt  when  she  did  it  and  said  it,  I  resolved, 
instead  of  waiting  eighteen  long  years  for  another,  to 
accept  as  the  Francesca  of  my  dreams,  and  as  the 
veritable  wife  of  my  actual  existence,  this  dear  girl, 
who  was  able  to  represent  at  this  very  present  the 
every  attribute  and  quality  of  my  ideal  woman. 


A 


A   STORY  OF  ASSISTED  FATE.  65 

in  the  autumn  we  were  married.  Thus  my  Fate, 
disclaiming  my  efforts  to  assist  it,  no  matter  in  what 
direction,  rose  dominant,  and,  attending  to  my  affairs 
in  its  own  way,  gave  me  Kitty  at  last. 

But  I  shall  always  feel  sorry  for  the  baby. 


AN  UNHISTORIC  PAGE. 


AN  elderly  negro  man,  Uncle  Enoch  by  name,  short 
of  stature  and  with  hair  and  beard  beginning  to 
grizzle,  but  with  arms  and  body  yet  stout  and  strong, 
stood  back  of  his  little  log  house,  not  far  from  a  Vir- 
ginia public  road,  endeavoring  to  pull  his  ax  out  of  a 
knotty  black-gum  log.  Often  and  often,  when  his 
stock  of  firewood  had  diminished  to  this  one  log,  had 
Uncle  Enoch  tried  to  split  it,  and  now  he  was  trying 
again.  While  thus  engaged,  there  came  to  him  his 
son  Dick.  This  was  a  youth  rather  taller  and  lighter 
in  color  than  his  father,  of  an  active  and  good-natured 
disposition,  and  hitherto  supposed  to  be  devoid  of  dis- 
turbing ambitions. 

"  Look  a-heah,  daddy,"  said  he,  "  won't  yuh  lemme 
go  to  Washin'ton  nex'  week?  " 

Uncle  Enoch  stopped  tugging  at  his  ax,  and  turned 
round  to  look  at  Dick.     "  What  fur?"  said  he. 

"  I'se  gwine  to  be  a  page  in  Congress." 

"What's  dat?"  asked  his  father,  his  bright  eyes 
opening  very  wide.  ''  What  yuh  want  to  do  dat 
fur?" 

"  A  page  is  one  of  dem  chaps  as  runs  round  and 


^.V    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE.  67 

■waits  on  de  Congressmen,  when  dey're  doing  dere  work 
in  Washin'ton.  Dere's  lots  of  'em,  and  some  of  'em 
is  cuUe'd.  Dey  hab  to  be  mighty  peart  and  cut  around, 
and  fetch  de  Congressmen  eberytiug  dey  wants.  And 
dey  don't  have  to  work  for  no  fifty  cents  a  day,  nudder. 
Dey  gits  sebenteen  hunderd  dollars  a  year." 

"What's  dat?"  exclaimed  Uncle  Enoch.  "  Yuh 
means  de  whole  kit  and  boodle  uv  'em  gits  dat." 

"  Xo,  I  don't,"  said  Dick.  "  Ebery  one  gits  it  for 
hisse'f." 

"  Yuh  shu'h  ob  dat?" 

''  Yes,  sah,"  replied  Dick.  "  I  heerd  it  all  from  a 
man  down  at  de  cross-roads,  when  I  took  ole  Billy 
to  be  shod  dis  ebenin'.  He  wus  tellin'  a  lot  o'  folks 
all  about  it  at  de  stoah.  An'  won't  yuh  lemme  go 
nex'  week?  " 

The  old  man  put  his  hand  on  his  ax-handle  and 
stood  reflectively. 

Uncle  Enoch  had  been  born  a  slave,  and  had  been 
an  honest  and  industrious  servant,  whose  only  failing 
was  that  he  was  inclined  to  think  himself  better  at  all 
times,  and  to  dress  himself  better  on  Sundays,  than 
his  companions ;  and  now  that  he  was  as  free  as  any- 
body, he  was  still  honest  and  industrious,  and  still  went 
to  church  with  the  highest  white  hat,  the  biggest  shirt 
collar,  and  the  longest  coat  of  anybody  in  the  congre- 
gation. As  he  grew  older,  his  opinion  of  himself  did 
not  decrease,  and  he  was  very  fond  of  exhorting  his 
fellow-members  in  church,  and  of  giving  them  advice 
in  private  whenever  he  saw  cause  for  it,  and  this  very 
often  in  the  shape  of  some  old  fable,  which  generally 


68  AN   UNHISTORIC  PAGE. 

became  strangely  twisted  as  it  passed  through  the  old 
man's  mental  organism. 

"  Look  a-heah,  Dick,"  said  he,  "  Tse  gwine  ter  tell 
yuh  a  story.  It's  one  uv  ole  Mahsr  George's  stories, 
and  I've  heerd  him  tell  it  often  to  the  chillun.  Dere 
was  a  mouse  what  lived  in  de  city,  I  dunno  'zactly 
whar,  but  jus'  as  like  as  not  it  was  Washin'ton,  an' 
he  went  to  see  a  friend  uv  hisn  who  had  a  plantation. 
De  plantation  mouse  he  were  glad  to  see  de  udder  one, 
an'  put  him  in  de  cump'ny  chahmber,  an'  gib  him  de 
bes'  he  had  ;  but  de  fine  gemman  he  didn't  'pear  to  be 
satisfy  wid  nuffin  but  light  bread  an'  cohn  pone  for 
breakfus',  an'  chicken  an'  ham  for  dinner,  and  he 
says,  says  he,  — 

'''Yuh  don'  git  can  vis-back  ducks  down  heah,  ] 
reckin  ? ' 

"  '  No,  sah ! '  ses  de  plantation  mouse. 

*' '  Nur  tar'pins,  stewed  in  Madary  wine?* 

"  '  No,  sah  ! ' 

"  '  Nur  eysters,  fresh  from  de  bay  ebery  mawnlu* ; 
nur  ice-cream,  all  de  colors  ob  de  rainbow ;  an'  little 
candy-balls,  what  go  off  pop  when  you  pull  'em ;  an' 
a  whole  bottle  ob  champain  to  each  pusson  ? ' 

"  '  No,  sah! '  ses  de  plantation  mouse,  a-fannin*  ob 
hisse'f  wid  he  han'kercher. 

"  '  Well,  now,  jus'  yuh  look  a-heah,*  ses  de  udder 
one,  gwine  out  on  de  poach  to  smoke  his  cigar,  'yuh 
come  to  de  city  an'  see  me,  and  when  you  tase  what 
dem  dar  tings  is  like,  yuh  won't  be  content  fur  to  stay 
no  more  on  dis  yere  no-count  farm,  so  fur  from  de 
railroad.' 


AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE.  69 

"So,  soon  as  he  sell  he  'baccer,  de  plantation  mouse 
he  go  to  see  his  city  fren'.  He  glad  to  see  him,  an' 
sot  him  right  down  to  a  pow'ful  good  dinner,  wid  al) 
de  canvis'back  ducks  an'  de  tar'pins  an'  de  eysters  an' 
de  champain,  an'  de  udder  tings  dat  he  done  tell  'bout. 

"  '  If  I'd  a-knowed  you  wus  a-comin','  ses  de  city 
mouse,  '  I'd  had  a  reg'lar  cump'ny  dinner ;  but  yuh'U 
have  to  go  'long  and  jus'  take  pot-luck  wid  us  dis 
time.' 

"  '  Den  you  didn't  git  my  letter? '  ses  de  plantation 
mouse. 

"  '  No,  sah.  Reckin  yuhr  man  done  forgot  to  put 
it  in  de  pos'-offlce.' 

"  So  dey  sot  an'  eat  till  dey  mos'  like  to  bus',  an' 
de  plantation  mouse  he  wonner  what  he  would  a-had 
if  he  fren'  had  done  got  he  letter. 

''Jus'  as  dey  was  litin'  dere  cigars,  and  puttin'  dey 
heels  up  on  two  cheers,  de  dinin'-room  door  open,  an' 
in  walk  de  sheriff  ob  de  county. 

"  '  Look  a-heah,  kurnel,'  ses  he,  '  have  yuh  got  de 
money  ready  fur  all  de  ducks  an'  de  eysters  an'  de 
wine  you've  had  fur  yuhse'f ;  an'  de  slab  meat  an'  de 
cohn  from  de  West  fur  yuhr  ban's?  Yuh  know  I  said 
I  wouldn't  give  yuh  no  longer  nur  ter-day.'  De  city 
mouse  he  turn  pale,  an'  he  tuk  de  plantation  mouse 
into  one  corner,  an'  ses  he,  — 

"  '  Look  a-heah,  kin  yuh  len'  me  two  or  free  tousand 
dollars  till  to-morrer  mawnin' ,  when  de  bank  opens  ?  * 

Den  de  udder  mouse  he  pull  a  drefful  poor  mouf ,  an' 
he  ses,  — 

''  'I'se  pow'ful  sorry,  but  it  rained  so  much  in  de 


70  AN    UNHISTORIC  PAGE. 

low  groun's  las'  year  dat  my  cohn  wus  all  spiled  ;  an* 
dere  wasn't  no  rain  on  de  high  groun's,  an'  de  cohn 
dere  wus  all  wilted  ;  an'  de  fros'  done  cotch  my  baccer 
craps,  an'  I  didn't  have  money  enuf  fur  to  buy  quinine 
fur  de  ban's.' 

*'  Den  de  town  mouse  he  ses  to  de  sheriff,  ses  he,  — 

"  'You  call  aroun'  Monday  mawnin',  an'  I'll  pay  yuh 
dat  money.  I  wus  a'spectin'  my  fren'  ter-day,  and 
done  forgot  to  k'lect  it.' 

"  '  Dat  won't  do,'  ses  de  sheriff.  '  I'se  heerd  dat 
story  often  'nuf.'  An'  he  rung  he  auction  bell,  an' 
he  lebied  on  eberyting  in  de  house  ;  an'  as  dey  didn't 
fotch  enuf,  he  sold  dat  city  mouse  an'  dat  plantation 
mouse  fur  slaves." 

Dick  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  at  this  direful 
conclusion  of  the  story. 

''Now  look  a-heah,  boy,"  continued  Uncle  Enoch, 
"  ef  yuh  tinks  yuh  is  gwine  down  to  Washin'ton  to  git 
tar' pins  an'  eysters  an'  champain  out  ob  dem  Congress- 
men, yuh  won't  be  tuk  an'  sold,  'cause  dey  can't  do 
dat  now,  but  yuh'll  find  yuhse'f  gobbled  up  some  way 
wuss  dan  dat  plantation  mouse  wus." 

Dick  grumbled  that  he  wasn't  a  mouse,  and  he 
wasn't  "gwine  arter  tar'pins,  nur  eysters,  nudder." 

"  Jus'  yuh  go  'long  an'  pick  up  some  chips  an'  trash 
fur  to  make  de  fire,"  said  his  father,  "  an'  don't  talk 
to  me  no  mo'h  ob  dat  foolishness." 

Dick  walked  slowly  off  to  do  as  he  was  bid,  and  for 
a  long  time  Uncle  Enoch  remained  standing  by  the 
twisted  black-gum  log  without  striking  it  a  blow. 

Uncle  Enoch  was  a  skillful  and  practised  ox-driver, 


^.V    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE.  71 

working  in  that  capacit}^  for  the  farmer  on  whose  land 
he  lived.  All  the  next  day  he  walked  meditatively  by 
the  side  of  the  slowly-moving  Bob  and  Blinker,  hauling 
wood  from  the  mountain.  He  did  not  shout  as  much 
as  usual  to  his  oxen,  but  he  guided  them  with  all  his 
customary  precision  around  stumps,  rocks,  and  the 
varied  impediments  of  the  rough  woodland  road. 

"  Yuh  Dick,"  said  he  to  his  son  in  the  evening,  "  is 
yuh  done  gib  up  all  dat  foolishness  'bout  goin'  to 
Washin'ton?  " 

''  'Taint  no  foolishness,"  muttered  Dick. 

"  Why,  boy,"  said  his  father,  "  'pears  to  me  yuh  is 
too  ole  for  dat  sort  o'  ting." 

"  It  don't  make  no  kind  o'  diff'rence  how  ole  a 
page  is,"  said  Dick.  "  Dat  man  said  so  hisse'f.  He 
ses  dey  got  'em  all  ages." 

"  Dat  so,  shuh?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Sartin  shuh,'-'  said  Dick. 

"  And  dey  gits  sebenteen  hunderd  dollars  a  j'ear?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Dick.  "An'  besides  dat,  dey  can 
make  lots  ob  money  blackin'  boots  an'  holdin'  bosses 
an'  runnin'  arrants  fur  de  Congressmen,  when  court's 
out." 

Uncle  Enoch  looked  steadfastly  at  his  son  for  some 
moments  without  speaking.  Then  he  said,  "Look  a- 
heah,  boy  ;  I'se  made  up  my  mind  'bout  dis  yere  busi- 
ness. Ef  all  dat  'ar  money's  to  be  got  by  pagein', 
I  agrees  to  de  notion." 

"  Hi-yi !  "  shouted  Dick,  beginning  to  dance. 

"Yuh  needn't  cut  up  no  sich  capers,"  said  his 
father.     '-^Tuh  aint  gwine.     I'se  gwine  mese'f." 


72  AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE. 

If  Dick  could  have  turned  pale,  he  would  have  done 
so.     He  stood  speechless. 

"Yes,  sah,"  continued  Uncle  Enoch.  "  Ef  it  don't 
make  no  difference  how  ole  de  pages  is,  I  kin  step 
roun'  as  lively  as  any  uv  'em,  an'  kin  wait  on  de  Con- 
gressmen better' n  any  boy.  I  knows  what  de  gemmen 
wants,  an'  I  knows  how  to  do  it.  I'se  waited  on  'em 
'fore  yuh  was  bawn,  boy,  an'  yuh  neber  libed  'mong 
white  folks,  nohow.  Jus'  yuh  take  dat  ox-whip  ter- 
morrer  mawniu',  an'  tell  Mahsr  Greg'ry  dat  I'se  done 
gone  to  Washin'ton,  and  dat  yuh've  come  to  drive  de 
oxen.  Yuh's  ole  enuf  fur  dat  now,  an'  it's  time  yuh 
was  beginnin'." 

Downcast  as  Dick  was  when  he  heard  that  he  was 
not  going  to  be  a  page  in  the  halls  of  Congress,  his 
spirits  immediately  rose  when  he  was  told  that  he  was 
to  take  Uncle  Enoch's  place  as  ox-driver.  To  crack 
the  long  whip,  and  guide  the  slow  progress  of  Bob  and 
Blinker,  was  to  him  a  high  delight  and  honor  which  im- 
pressed him  the  more  forcibly  because  it  was  so  totally 
unexpected.  The  Government  position  had  held  forth 
glittering  advantages,  which  had  greatly  attracted  him, 
but  which  his  mind  did  not  entirely  comprehend.  But 
to  drive  the  oxen  was  a  real  thing,  a  joy  and  a  dignity 
which  he  knew  all  about.  Dick  was  entirely  satisfied 
As  to  the  page's  salar}'  which  his  memory  or  his  ears 
had  so  greatly  exaggerated,  he  did  not  even  think  of 
it. 

Uncle  Enoch  determined  not  to  announce  his  inten- 
tion to  his  neighbors,  nor  to  take  counsel  of  any  one. 
He  went  into  the  house,  and  after  electrifying  his  fam- 


AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE.  73 

ily  with  the  statement  of  his  intended  step  into  what 
was  to  them  wealth  and  high  position,  he  set  them  all 
to  work  to  get  him  ready  for  an  early  start  the  next 
morning.  Washing,  ironing,  patching  and  packing 
went  on  during  a  great  part  of  the  night ;  his  wife, 
*'Aunt  Maria,"  his  three  daughters,  and  even  Dick, 
doing  their  utmost  to  fit  him  out  for  his  great  under- 
taking. 

*'  What  I'se  gwine  to  do  wid  dat  sebenteen  hunderd 
dollars,"  said  Uncle  Enoch,  as  he  sat  on  a  low  chair 
sewing  up  a  gap  in  one  of  his  Sunday'  boots,  ''is  to 
buy  dis  track  o'  land  on  de  hill  back  heah,  an'  make 
a  wine-yard  uv  it.  No  use  foolin'  no  more  wid  little 
tater  patches,  an'  cabb3'ges,  an'  tree  or  foh  dozen  hills 
o'  cohn  ;  I'll  sell  de  grapes,  an'  buy  all  dat  sort  o' 
ting.  At  de  wine-cellar  in  town  dey'll  take  all  de 
grapes  yoh  kin  raise,  an'  ef  I  have  to  buy  a  boss 
an'  wagun  to  haul  'em  inter  town,  yuh  won't  see  dis 
yere  fam'ly  walkin'  to  church  no  mo'h  wid  de  mud 
up  to  dere  knees  and  de  hot  sun  brilin'  on  ter  dere 
heads." 

A  little  after  daylight  the  next  morning  Uncle 
Enoch,  wearing  his  tall  white  hat  with  the  broad  band 
of  crape  around  it  which  it  had  on  when  it  was  given 
to  him ;  with  his  highest  and  stiffest  shirt-collar ;  a 
long  black  coat  reaching  nearly  to  his  heels ;  a  pair  of 
blue  jean  trousers  rolled  up  at  the  ankles ;  his  enor- 
mous Sunday  boots  well  blacked ;  in  one  hand  a  very 
small  cowhide  trunk  tied  up  with  a  rope  and  carried 
in  the  manner  of  a  violin-case  ;  a  vast  umbrella  with  a 
horn  handle  in  the  other  hand,  and  the  greater  part  of 


74  AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE. 

his  recently  paid  month's  wages  in  his  pocket,  started 
off  to  walk  three  miles  to  the  railroad-station  on  his 
way  to  become  a  Congressional  page. 

Dick  assumed  the  ox-whip,  and  as  there  was  no  one 
else  to  take  the  vacated  place,  he  cracked  it  in  pride 
and  glory  over  the  heads  of  Bob  and  Blinker,  and,  al- 
though they  ran  into  more  stumps,  and  got  into  more 
deep  ruts,  than  was  good  for  themselves  or  the  cart, 
the  winter  wood  of  Mr.  Gregory  continued  to  be 
hauled. 

One  week,  and  two  weeks,  passed  on  without  news 
from  Uncle  Enoch,  and  then  Aunt  Maria  began  to  get 
impatient.  "Look  a-heah,  Dick,"  she  said,  "when 
you  comes  home  ter-night,  an'  has  had  yuhr  supper, 
an'  has  done  split  up  dem  ole  rails,  what's  too  short 
fur  de  fence  anyway,  fur  'taint  no  use  fur  yuh  to  try 
no  mo'h  on  dat  black-gum  log  what  yuh  daddy  done 
went  away  and  luf,  an'  ef  he  don't  come  back  soon  he 
won't  find  no  fence  at  all,  I  reckin,  when  he  do  come, 
yuh  jus'  sot  down  an'  write  him  a  letter,  an'  tell  him 
'taint  no  use  fur  him  to  be  sabin  up  all  dat  sebenteen 
hunderd  dollars  to  buy  wine-yards  while  his  chillun's 
gwine  about  wid  scace  no  close  to  dere  backs. 

"Dere's  yuhr  sis'r  Charlotte  what  has  to  go  to 
church  wid  dem  light-blue  slippers  Miss  Sally  gib  her, 
an'  no  stockuns,  an'  no  wunner  de  people  laf  at  her. 
An'  dere's  yuhr  daddy  makin'  all  dat  money  down  dere 
in  Washin'ton  wid  de  Congressmen. 

"An'  she  a  gal,  too,  what's  done  won  de  prize  tree 
times  in  de  cake-walk.  I  spec'  he's  done  forgot  what 
I  tole  him  'bout  de  weddin'-ring  fur  me.     I  done  tole 


AN   UN  HISTORIC  PAGE.  75 

him  to  buy  it  wid  de  fus*  money  he  got  an*  to  send  it 
in  a  letter.  I'se  neber  had  none  yit,  though  we  wus 
both  married  long  back  befoh  de  war. 

"  An'  it's  no  use  waitin',  nudder,  fur  little  Jim's 
funeral  till  he  comes  back.  He  kin  sen'  de  money  fur 
de  cake  and  wine  jus'  as  well  as  not,  an'  Brudder 
Anderson  is  ready,  he  tole  me  las'  Sund'y,  wid  de  fax 
an'  de  tex.  Little  Jim's  been  dead  now  nigh  on  ter 
two  yeah,  an'  it's  time  his  funeral  was  preached. 

'*  I  ain't  got  no  'jections  to  de  wine-yard,  spesh'ly 
ef  we  hab  ter  hab  a  wagun  to  haul  de  grapes,  but  I 
don't  want  yuhr  daddy  to  come  back  heah  an'  find 
hissef  'shamed  uv  his  fam'ly  arter  livin'  down  dar 
*mong  all  dem  quality  folks.  I'll  send  Charlotte  dis 
mawnin'  to  borrer  a  sheet  uv  paper,  an'  a  pen  an'  ink 
from  Miss  Sally,  an'  see  ef  she  won't  let  her  pick  up 
some  apples  in  de  orchard  while  she's  dar,  an'  p'raps 
she'll  give  her  a  bucket  uv  buttermilk  ef  she's  done 
churned  yistiddy.  An'  yuh  put  all  dat  in  de  letter,  an' 
sen'  it  off  jus'  as  soon  as  yuh  kin." 

Dick  willingly  undertook  this  business,  having  made 
up  his  mind  while  his  mother  was  talking  to  him  to 
put  in  a  few  words  on  his  own  account;  and  before  he 
began  the  important  epistle  each  of  his  sisters  had 
something  to  say  to  him  in  private  in  regard  to  sugges- 
tions which  they  wished  him  to  make  to  the  head  of 
the  family. 

The  letter  moved  more  slowly  than  Bob  and  Blinker 
over  the  roughest  road.  After  three  nights'  work  it 
was  only  half-done,  for  Dick  found  a  pen  much  more 
difficult   to   handle  than  a  whip,  and  besides  being  a 


76  AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE. 

very  stumbling  speller,  invariably  went  to  sleep  over 
his  paper  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  work.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  after  the  commence- 
ment of  this  literary  enterprise,  Dick  was  standing  by 
the  black-gum  log,  with  the  axe  in  his  hand,  wonder- 
ing if  it  would  be  better  to  take  another  rail  from  the 
forlorn  fence  around  the  little  yard  —  for  what  difference 
could  it  make  when  there  were  so  many  open  places 
already?  —  or  to  split  up  a  solitary  post,  which  having 
nothing  attached  to  it  was  clearly  useless,  when  he 
saw  upon  the  high-road  a  figure  approaching  him. 

It  wore  a  tall  white  hat  with  a  broad  band  of  rusty 
crape  around  it ;  it  had  on  a  high  stiff  shirt-collar,  and 
a  long  black  coat ;  in  one  hand  it  carried  an  umbrella 
with  a  rough  horn  handle,  and  in  the  other  a  little  hair 
trunk  tied  up  with  a  rope  ;  it  had  a  bright  and  flashing 
eye,  and  a  determined  step. 

It  did  not  go  on  to  the  house,  but,  turning  from  the 
public  road,  came  through  a  gap  in  the  fence,  and 
walked  straight  up  to  the  astonished  Dick. 

"  Look  a-heah,  yuh  Dick,"  said  Uncle  Enoch,  put- 
ting down  his  little  trunk  ;  "  who  done  tole  yuh  all  dat 
foolishness  about  gwine  to  Washin'ton  to  wait  on  de 
Congressmen,  an'  gittin'  sebenteen  hunderd  dollars  a 
yeah?" 

"  It  wus  a  man  at  de  cross-roads,"  said  Dick,  "  wid 
a  red  beard.  He  done  brung  some  bosses  ober  from 
de  Cou't  House.     I  dunno  his  name." 

"  Is  he  bigger  nur  yuh  is?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Dick,  "  more'n  twice  as  big." 

"Well,  den,  yuh  luf  him  alone,"  said  Uncle  Enoch, 


AiX    UNHISTORIC  PAGE.  77 

with  great  decision  and  energy,  "  3'uh  luf  him  alone. 
I  hopes,  boy,"  the  old  man  continued,  wiping  his  face 
with  his  great  blue  and  yellow  handkerchief,  "  dat 
yuh's  gwine  ter  larn  a  lesson  from  dis  j^ere  bis'ness. 
It  makes  me  tink  ob  two  no-' count  beasts  dat  wus 
once  loafin'  in  a  little  clearin'  dat  had  bin  buhued  fur 
a  seed-patch.  Dey  wus  stannin'  in  de  sun  to  warm 
deyse'fs,  bein'  too  pow'ful  lazy  to  cut  some  wood  and 
make  a  fire.  One  was  a  gy-raffe,  an'  de  udder  was 
a  kangerroo.  De  gy-raffe  he  look  at  de  kangerroo, 
an'  he  begun  to  larf. 

"  'It's  mighty  cur'us,'  ses  he,  'to  see  a  pore  crit- 
ter like  yuh,  wid  some  legs  short  and  some  legs  long. 
Ef  I  was  yuh  I'd  go  to  de  wood-pile,  an'  I'd  chop 
dem  hine  legs  off  de  same  lent  as  de  foh  ones,  so 
yuh'd  go  about  like  common  folks,  an'  not  be  larfed 
at.' 

"  Dese  remarks  dey  make  de  har  riz  on  de  kanger- 
roo's  back,  he  so  mad  angry. 

"'Yuh  suh'tinely  is  a  gay  boy,'  ses  he  to  de  gy- 
raffe,  '  to  stan'  up  dere  an'  preach  like  dat,  wid  yer 
hine  legs  short  as  plow-hannels  an'  yuhr  foh  legs 
too  long  fur  butter-bean  poles,  so  dat  3'uhr  back  slopes 
down  like  de  roof  of  a  ice-house.  Ef  I  wus  yuh  I'd 
go  to  de  wood-pile,  an'  I'd  chop  off  dat  ar  long  neck 
close  to  de  head,  I'd  be  so  'shamed.' 

"  Now,  boy,"  continued  Uncle  Enoch,  *'  dere's  lots 
ob  stories  about  one  eberlastin'  fool,  but  dat's  de 
only  story  I  knows  'bout  two  uv  'em.  An'  now  jes' 
yuh  go  inter  de  house,  an'  tell  de  folks  I'se  gwine 
ter  put  a  new  cracker  on  de  ox- whip,  an'  ef  any  ob 


78  AN    UN  HISTORIC  PAGE. 

dem  ses  Washin'ton  to  me,  I'll  make  'em  dance  Jeru- 
salem !  " 

Dick  walked  into  the  house  to  deliver  this  message, 
and  as  he  went,  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  reckin  de  plan- 
tation mouse  done  gin  up  he  wine-yard." 


A  TALE  OF  NEGATIVE  GRAVITY, 


MY  wife  and  I  were  staying  at  a  small  town  in 
northern  Italy  ;  and  on  a  certain  pleasant  after- 
noon in  spring  we  had  taken  a  walk  of  six  or  seven 
miles  to  see  the  sun  set  behind  some  low  mountains  to 
the  west  of  the  town.  Most  of  our  walk  had  been 
along  a  hard,  smooth  highway,  and  then  we  turned 
into  a  series  of  narrower  roads,  sometimes  bordered 
by  walls,  and  sometimes  by  light  fences  of  reed,  or 
cane.  Nearing  the  mountain,  to  a  low  spur  of  which 
we  intended  to  ascend,  we  easily  scaled  a  wall  about 
four  feet  high,  and  found  ourselves  upon  pasture  land, 
which  led,  sometimes  by  gradual  ascents,  and  some- 
times by  bits  of  rough  climbing,  to  the  spot  we  wished 
to  reach.  We  were  afraid  we  were  a  little  late,  and 
therefore  hurried  on,  running  up  the  grassy  hills,  and 
bounding  briskly  over  the  rough  and  rocky  places.  I 
carried  a  knapsack  strapped  firmly  to  my  shoulders, 
and  under  my  wife's  arm  was  a  large,  soft  basket  of 
a  kind  much  used  by  tourists.  Her  arm  was  passed 
through  the  handles,  and  around  the  bottom  of  the 
basket,  which  she  pressed  closely  to  her  side.  This 
was  the  way  she  always  carried  it.     The  basket  con- 

79 


80  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

tained  two  bottles  of  wine,  one  sweet  for  my  wife,  and 
another  a  little  acid  for  myself.  Sweet  wines  give  me 
a  headache. 

When  we  reached  the  grassy  bluff,  well  known  there- 
abouts to  lovers  of  sunset  views,  I  stepped  immediately 
to  the  edge  to  gaze  upon  the  scene,  but  my  wife  sat 
down  to  take  a  sip  of  wine,  for  she  was  very  thirsty ; 
and  then,  leaving  her  basket,  she  came  to  my  side. 
The  scene  was  indeed  one  of  great  beauty.  Beneath 
us  stretched  a  wide  valley  of  many  shades  of  green, 
with  a  little  river  running  through  it,  and  red- tiled 
houses  here  and  there.  Beyond  rose  a  range  of  moun- 
tains, pink,  pale-green,  and  purple  where  their  tips 
caught  the  reflection  of  the  setting  sun,  and  of  a  rich 
gray-green  in  shadows.  Beyond  -all  was  the  blue 
Italian  sky,  illumined  by  an  especially  fine  sunset. 

My  wife  and  I  are  Americans,  and  at  the  time  of 
this  story  were  middle-aged  people  and  very  fond  of 
seeing  in  each  other's  company  whatever  there  was 
of  interest  or  beauty  around  us.  We  had  a  son  about 
twenty-two  years  old,  of  whom  we  were  also  very  fond, 
but  he  was  not  with  us,  being  at  that  time  a  student  in 
Germany.  Although  we  had  good  health,  we  were  not 
very  robust  people,  and,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
not  much  given  to  long  country  tramps.  I  was  of 
medium  size,  without  much  muscular  development, 
while  my  wife  was  quite  stout,  and  growing  stouter. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  be  somewhat  surprised 
that  a  middle-aged  couple,  not  very  strong,  or  very 
good  walkers,  the  lady  loaded  with  a  basket  containing 
two  bottles  of  wine  and  a  metal  drinking-cup,  and  the 


A    TALE    OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  '^1 

gentleman  carrying  a  heav}'  knapsack,  filled  with  all 
sorts  of  odds  and  ends,  strapped  to  his  shoulders, 
should  set  off  on  a  seven-mile  walk,  jump  over  a  wall, 
run  up  a  hill-side,  and  yet  feel  in  very  good  trim  to 
enjoy  a  sunset  view.  This  peculiar  state  of  things  I 
will  proceed  to  explain. 

I  had  been  a  professional  man,  but  some  years  be- 
fore had  retired  upon  a  very  comfortable  income.  I 
had  always  been  very  fond  of  scientific  pursuits,  and 
now  made  these  the  occupation  and  pleasure  of  much 
of  my  leisure  time.  Our  home  was  in  a  small  town  ; 
and  in  a  corner  of  my  grounds  I  built  a  laboratory, 
where  I  carried  on  my  work  and  my  experiments.  I 
had  long  been  anxious  to  discover  the  means,  not  onlj' 
of  producing,  but  of  retaining  and  controlling,  a  nat- 
ural force,  really  the  same  as  centrifugal  force,  but 
which  I  called  negative  gravity.  This  name  I  adopted 
because  it  indicated  better  than  any  other  the  action  of 
the  force  in  question,  as  T  produced  it.  Positive  grav- 
ity attracts  everything  toward  the  center  of  the  earth. 
Negative  gravity,  therefore,  would  be  that  power  which 
repels  ever3'thing  from  the  center  of  the  earth,  just  as 
the  negative  pole  of  a  magnet  repels  the  needle,  while 
the  positive  pole  attracts  it.  My  object  was,  in  fact, 
to  store  centrifugal  force  and  to  render  it  constant, 
controllable,  and  available  for  use.  The  advantages 
of  such  a  discovery  could  scarcely  be  described. 
In  a  word,  it  would  lighten  the  burdens  of  the 
world. 

I  will  not  touch  upon  the  labors  and  disappointments 
of  several  years.     It  is  enough  to  say  that  at  last  I 


82  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

discovered  a  method  of  producing,  storing,  and  con- 
trolling negative  gravity. 

The  mechanism  of  my  invention  was  rather  compli- 
cated, but  the  method  of  operating  it  was  very  simple. 
A  strong  metallic  case,  about  eight  inches  long,  and 
half  as  wide,  contained  the  machinery  for  producing 
the  force ;  and  this  was  put  into  action  by  means  of 
the  pressure  of  a  screw  worked  from  the  outside.  As 
soon  as  this  pressure  was  produced,  negative  gravity 
began  to  be  evolved  and  stored,  and  the  greater  the 
pressure  the  greater  the  force.  As  the  screw  was 
moved  outward,  and  the  pressure  diminished,  the  force 
decreased,  and  when  the  screw  was  withdrawn  to  its 
fullest  extent,  the  action  of  negative  gravity  entirely 
ceased.  Thus  this  force  could  be  produced  or  dissi- 
pated at  will  to  such  degrees  as  might  be  desired,  and 
its  action,  so  long  as  the  requisite  pressure  was  main- 
tained, was  constant. 

When  this  little  apparatus  worked  to  my  satisfaction 
I  called  my  wife  into  my  laboratory  and  explained  to 
her  my  invention  and  its  value.  She  had  known  that  I 
had  been  at  work  with  an  important  object,  but  I  had 
never  told  her  what  it  was.  I  had  said  that  if  I  suc- 
ceeded I  would  tell  her  all,  but  if  I  failed  she  need 
not  be  troubled  with  the  matter  at  all.  Being  a  very 
sensible  woman,  this  satisfied  her  perfectly.  Now  I 
explained  everything  to  her,  the  construction  of  the 
machine,  and  the  wonderful  uses  to  which  this  inven- 
tion could  be  applied.  I  told  her  that  it  could  dimin- 
ish, or  entirely  dissipate,  the  weight  of  objects  of  any 
kind.     A   heavily  loaded   wagon,  with   two  of   these 


A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  83 

iustruments  fastened  to  its  sides,  and  each  screwed  to 
a  proper  force,  would  be  so  lifted  and  supported  that 
it  would  press  upon  the  ground  as  lightly  as  an  empty 
cart,  and  a  small  horse  could  draw  it  with  ease.  A 
bale  of  cotton,  with  one  of  these  machines  attached, 
could  be  handled  and  carried  by  a  boy.  A  car,  with  a 
number  of  these  machines,  could  be  made  to  rise  in 
the  air  like  a  balloon.  Everything,  in  fact,  that  was 
heavy  could  be  made  light ;  and  as  a  great  part  of 
labor,  all  over  the  world,  is  caused  by  the  attraction 
of  gravitation,  so  this  repellent  force,  wherever  applied, 
would  make  weight  less  and  work  easier.  I  told  her 
of  many,  many  ways  in  which  the  invention  might  be 
used,  and  would  have  told  her  of  many  more  if  she 
had  not  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

''The  world  has  gained  something  wonderful,"  she 
exclaimed,  between  her  sobs,  "but  I  have  lost  a 
husband ! ' ' 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  I  haven't  minded  it  so  far,"  she  said,  "  because  it 
gave  you  something  to  do,  and  it  pleased  you,  and  it 
never  interfered  with  our  home  pleasures  and  our  home 
life.  But  now  that  is  all  over.  You  will  never  be 
your  own  master  again.  It  will  succeed,  I  am  sure, 
and  you  may  make  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  we 
don't  need  money.  What  we  need  is  the  happiness 
which  we  have  always  had  until  now.  Now  there  will 
be  companies,  and  patents,  and  lawsuits,  and  experi- 
ments, and  people  calling  you  a  humbug,  and  other 
people  saying  they  discovered  it  long  ago,  and  all  sorts 
of  persons  coming  to  see  you,  and  you'll  be  obliged  to 


84  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

go  to  all  sorts  of  places,  and  you  will  be  an  altered 
man,  and  we  shall  never  be  happy  again.  Millions  of 
money  will  not  repay  us  for  the  happiness  we  have 
lost." 

These  words  of  my  wife  struck  me  with  much  force. 
Before  I  had  called  her  my  mind  had  begun  to  be  filled 
and  perplexed  with  ideas  of  what  I  ought  to  do  now 
that  the  great  invention  was  perfected.  Until  now  the 
matter  had  not  troubled  me  at  all.  Sometimes  I  had 
gone  backward  and  sometimes  forward,  but,  on  the 
whole,  I  had  always  felt  encouraged.  I  had  taken 
great  pleasure  in  the  work,  but  I  had  never  allowed 
myself  to  be  too  much  absorbed  by  it.  But  now  every- 
thing was  ^different.  I  began  to  feel  that  it  was  due 
to  myself  and  to  my  fellow-beings,  that  I  should  prop- 
erly put  this  invention  before  the  world.  And  how 
should  I  set  about  it  ?  What  steps  should  I  take  ?  I 
must  make  no  mistakes.  When  the  matter  should 
become  known  hundreds  of  scientific  people  might  set 
themselves  to  work ;  how  could  I  tell  but  that  they 
might  discover  other  methods  of  producing  the  same 
effect.  I  must  guard  myself  against  a  great  many 
things.  I  must  get  patents  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
Already,  as  I  have  said,  my  mind  began  to  be  troubled 
and  perplexed  with  these  things.  A  turmoil  of  this 
sort  did  not  suit  my  age  or  disposition.  I  could  not 
but  agree  with  my  wife  that  the  joys  of  a  quiet  and 
contented  life  were  now  about  to  be  broken  into. 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  I  believe,  with  you,  that  the 
thing  will  do  us  more  harm  than  good.  If  it  were  not 
for  depriving  the  world  of  the  invention  I  would  throw 


A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  85 

the  whole  thing  to  the  winds.  And  yet,"  I  added, 
regretfully,  "  I  had  expected  a  great  deal  of  personal 
gratification  from  the  use  of  this  invention." 

"Now,  listen, "-said  my  wife,  eagerly,  "don't  you 
think  it  would  be  best  to  do  this :  use  the  thing  as 
much  as  yo\x  please  for  your  own  amusement  and  sat- 
isfaction, but  let  the  world  wait.  It  has  waited  a  long 
time,  and  let  it  wait  a  little  longer.  When  we  are  dead 
lef  rterbert  have  the  invention.  He  will  then  be  old 
enough  to  judge  for  himself  whether  it  will  be  better 
to  take  advantage  of  it  for  his  own  profit,  or  simply  to 
give  it  to  the  public  for  nothing.  It  would  be  cheat- 
ing him  if  we  were  to  do  the  latter,  but  it  would  also 
be  doing  him  a  great  wrong  if  we  were,  at  his  age,  to 
load  him  with  such  a  heavy  responsibility.  Besides, 
if  he  took  it  up,  you  could  not  help  going  into  it,  too." 

I  took  my  wife's  advice.  I  wrote  a  careful  and 
complete  account  of  the  invention,  and,  sealing  it  up, 
I  gave  it  to  my  lawyers  to  be  handed  to  my  son  after 
my  death.  If  he  died  first,  I  would  make  other 
arrangements.  Then  I  determined  to  get  all  the  good 
and  fun  out  of  the  thing  that  was  possible  without 
telling  any  one  anything  about  it.  Even  Herbert,  who 
was  away  from  home,  was  not  to  be  told  of  the  inven- 
tion. 

The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  buy  a  strong  leathern 
knapsack,  and  inside  of  this  I  fastened  my  little 
machine,  with  a  screw  so  arranged  that  it  could  be 
worked  from  the  outside.  Strapping  this  firmly  to  my 
shoulders,  my  wife  gently  turned  the  screw  at  the  back 
until  the  upward  tendency  of  the  knapsack  began  to 


86  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

lift  and  sustain  me.  When  I  felt  myself  so  gently 
supported  and  upheld  that  I  seemed  to  weigh  about 
thirty  or  forty  pounds,  I  would  set  out  for  a  walk. 
The  knapsack  did  not  raise  me  from  the  ground,  but  it 
gave  me  a  very  buoyant  step.  It  was  no  labor  at  all 
to  walk ;  it  was  a  delight,  an  ecstasy.  With  the 
strength  of  a  man  and  the  weight  of  a  child,  I  gayly 
strode  along.  The  first  day  I  walked  half  a  dozen 
miles  at  a  very  brisk  pace,  and  came  back  without 
feeling  in  the  least  degree  tired.  These  walks  now 
became  one  of  the  greatest  joys  of  my  life.\^  When 
nobody  was  looking,  I  would  bound  over  a  fence, 
sometimes  just  touching  it  with  one  hand,  and  some- 
times not  touching  it  at  all.  I  delighted  in  rough 
places.  I  sprang  over  streams.  I  jumped  and  I  ran. 
I  felt  like  Mercury  himself. 

I  now  set  about  making  another  machine,  so  that 
my  wife  could  accompany  me  in  my  walks ;  but  when 
it  was  finished  she  positively  refused  to  use  it.  "I 
can't  wear  a  knapsack,"  she  said,  "  and  there  is  no 
other  good  way  of  fastening  it  to  me.  Besides,  everyr 
body  about  here  knows  I  am  no  walker,  and  it  would 
only  set  them  talking." 

I  occasionally  made  use  of  this  second  machine,  but 
T  will  only  give  one  instance  of  its  application.  Some 
repairs  were  needed  to  the  foundation-walls  of  my 
barn,  and  a  two-horse  wagon,  loaded  with  building- 
stone,  had  been  brought  into  my  yard  and  left  there. 
In  the  evening,  when  the  men  had  gone  away,  I  took 
my  two  machines  and  fastened  them  with  strong 
chains,  one  on  each  side  of  the  loaded  wagon.     Then, 


A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  87 

gradually  turning  the  screws,  the  wagon  was  so  lifted 
that  its  weight  became  very  greatly  diminished.  "VVe 
had  an  old  donkey  which  used  to  belong  to  Herbert, 
and  which  was  now  occasionally  used  with  a  small 
cart  to  bring  packages  from  the  station.  I  went  into 
the  barn  and  put  the  harness  on  the  little  fellow,  and, 
bringing  him  out  to  the  wagon,  I  attached  him  to  it. 
In  this  position  he  looked  very  funny,  with  a  long 
pole  sticking  out  in  front  of  him  and  the  great  wagon 
behind  him.  When  all  was  ready,  I  touched  him  up  ; 
and,  to  my  great  delight,  he  moved  off  with  the  two- 
horse  load  of  stone  as  easily  as  if  he  were  drawing  his 
own  cart.  I  led  him  out  into  the  public  road,  along 
which  he  proceeded  without  difficulty.  He  was  an 
opinionated  little  beast,  and  sometimes  stopped,  not 
liking  the  peculiar  manner  in  which  he  was  harnessed  ; 
but  a  touch  of  the  switch  made  him  move  on,  and  I 
soon  turned  him  and  brought  the  wagon  back  into  the 
yard.  This  determined  the  success  of  my  invention  in 
one  of  its  most  important  uses,  and  with  a  satisfied 
heart  I  put  the  donkey  into  the  stable  and  went  into 
the  house. 

Our  trip  to  Europe  was  nade  a  few  months  after 
this,  and  was  mainly  on  our  son  Herbert's  account. 
He,  poor  fellow,  was  in  great  trouble,  and  so,  there- 
fore, were  we.  He  had  become  engaged,  with  our  full 
consent,  to  a  young  lady  in  our  town,  the  daughter  of 
a  gentleman  whom  we  esteemed  very  highly.  Herbert 
was  young  to  be  engaged  to  be  married,  but  as  we  felt 
that  he  would  never  find  a  girl  to  make  him  so  good  a 
wife,  we  were  entirely  satisfied,  especially  as  it  was 


88  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  marriage  was  not  to  take 
place  for  some  time.  It  seemed  to  us  that  in  marrying 
Janet  Gilbert,  Herbert  would  secure  for  himself,  in  the 
very  beginning  of  his  career,  the  most  important  ele- 
ment of  a  happy  life.  But  suddenly,  without  any 
reason  that  seemed  to  us  justifiable,  Mr.  Gilbert,  thcr 
only  surviving  parent  of  Janet,  broke  off  the  match; 
and  he  and  his  daughter  soon  after  left  the  town  for  a 
trip  to  the  West. 

This  blow  nearly  broke  poor  Herbert's  heart.  He 
gave  up  his  professional  studies  and  came  home  to  us, 
and  for  a  time  we  thought  he  would  be  seriously  ill. 
Then  we  took  him  to  Europe,  and  after  a  Continental 
tour  of  a  month  or  two  we  left  him,  at  his  own  request, 
in  Gottingen,  where  he  thought  it  would  do  him  good 
to  go  to  work  again.  Then  we  went  down  to  the  little 
town  in  Italy  where  my  stor^^  first  finds  us.  My  wife 
had  suffered  much  in  mind  and  body  on  her  son's 
account,  and  for  this  reason  I  was  anxious  that  she 
should  take  outdoor  exercise,  and  enjoy  as  much  as 
possible  the  bracing  air  of  the  country.  I  had  brought 
with  me  both  my  little  machines.  One  was  still  in  my 
knapsack,  and  the  other  I  had  fastened  to  the  inside  of 
an  enormous  family  trunk.  As  one  is  obliged  to  pay 
for  nearly  every  pound  of  his  baggage  on  the  Conti- 
nent, this  saved  me  a  great  deal  of  money.  Every- 
thing heavy  was  packed  into  this  great  trunk,  — books, 
papers,  the  bronze,  iron,  and  marble  relics  we  had 
picked  up,  and  all  the  articles  that  usually  weigh  down 
a  tourist's  baggage.  I  screwed  up  the  negative  gravity 
apparatus  until  the  trunk  could  be  handled  with  great 


^   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  89 

case  by  an  ordinary  porter.  I  could  have  made  it 
weigh  nothing  at  all,  but  this,  of  course,  I  did  not  wish 
to  do.  The  lightness  of  my  baggage,  however,  had 
occasioned  some  comment,  and  I  had  overheard  re- 
marks which  were  not  altogether  complimentary  about 
people  traveling  around  with  empty  trunks ;  but  this 
only  amused  me. 

Desirous  that  my  wife  should  have  the  advantage  of 
negative  gravity  while  taking  our  walks,  I  had  re- 
moved the  machine  from  the  trunk  and  fastened  it 
inside  of  the  basket,  which  she  could  carry  under  her 
arm.  This  assisted  her  wonderfully^^  When  one  arm 
was  tired  she  put  the  basket  under  the  other,  and  thus, 
with  one  hand  on  my  arm,  she  could  easily  keep  up 
with  the  free  and  buoyant  steps  my  knapsack  enabled 
me  to  take.  She  did  not  object  to  long  tramps  here, 
because  nobody  knew  that  she  was  not  a  walker,  and 
she  always  carried  some  wine  or  other  refreshment  in 
the  basket,  not  only  because  it  was  pleasant  to  have  it 
with  us,  but  because  it  seemed  ridiculous  to  go  about 
carrying  an  empty  basket. 

There  were  English-speaking  people  stopping  at  the 
hotel  where  we  were,  but  they  seemed  more  fond  of 
driving  than  walking,  and  none  of  them  offered  to 
accompany  us  on  our  rambles,  for  which  we  were  very 
glad.  There  was  one  man  there,  however,  who  was  a 
great  walker.  He  was  an  Englishman,  a  member  of 
an  Alpine  Club,  and  generally  went  about  dressed  in  a 
knickerbocker  suit,  with  gray  woolen  stockings  cover- 
ing an  enormous  pair  of  calves.  One  evening  this 
gentleman  was  talking  to  me  and  some  others  about 


90  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

the  ascent  of  the  Matterhorn,  and  I  took  occasion  to 
deliver  in  pretty  strong  language  my  opinion  upon  such 
exploits.  I  declared  them  to  be  useless,  foolhardy,  and, 
if  the  climber  had  any  one  who  loved  him,  wicked. 

"  Even  if  the  weather  should  permit  a  view,"  I 
said,  "what  is  that  compared  to  the  terrible  risk  to 
life?  Under  certain  circumstances,"  I  added  (thinking 
of  a  kind  of  waistcoat  I  had  some  idea  of  making, 
which,  set  about  with  little  negative  gravity  machines, 
all  connected  with  a  conveniently  handled  screw,  would 
enable  the  wearer  at  times  to  dispense  with  his  weight 
altogether) ,  ' '  such  ascents  might  be  divested  of  danger, 
and  be  quite  admissible  ;  but  ordinarily  they  should  be 
frowned  upon  by  the  intelligent  public." 

The  Alpine  Club  man  looked  at  me,  especially 
regarding  my  somewhat  slight  figure  and  thinnish 
legs. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk  that  way,"  he 
said,  "  because  it  is  easy  to  see  that  you  are  not  up  to 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  In  conversations  of  this  kind,"  I  replied,  "  I  never 
make  personal  allusions  ;  but  since  you  have  chosen  to 
do  so,  I  feel  inclined  to  invite  you  to  walk  with  me  to- 
morrow to  the  top  of  the  mountain  to  the  north  of  this 
town." 

"I'll  do  it,"  he  said,  "at  any  time  you  choose  to 
name."  And  as  I  left  the  room  soon  afterward  I 
heard  him  laugh. 

\  The  next  afternoon,  about  two  o'clock,  the  Alpine 
club  man  and  myself  set  out  for  the  mountain. 

"  What  have  you  got  in  your  knapsack?  "  he  said. 


A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  91 

*'  A  hammer  to  use  if  I  come  across  geological  speci- 
mens, a  field-glass,  a  flask  of  wine,  and  some  other 
things." 

"  I  wouldn't  carry  any  weight,  if  I  were  you,"  he- 
said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  it,"  I  answered,  and  off  we 
started. 

The  mountain  to  which  we  werq  bound  was  about  two 
miles  from  the  town.  Its  nearest  side  was  steep,  and 
in  places  almost  precipitous,  but  it  sloped  away  more 
gradually  toward  the  north,  and  up  that  side  a  road  led 
by  devious  windings  to  a  village  near  the  summit.  It 
was  not  a  very  high  mountain,  but  it  would  do  for  an 
afternoon's  climb. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  go  up  by  the  road,"  said 
my  companion. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  "  we  won't  go  so  far  around 
as  that.  There  is  a  path  up  this  side,  along  which  I 
have  seen  men  driving  their  goats.  I  prefer  to  take 
that." 

"All  right,  if  you  say  so,"  he  answered,  with  a 
smile  ;  h^  but  you'll  find  it  pretty  tough."  "^x 

After  a  time  he  remarked  : 

'Ht  wouldn't  walk  so  fast,  if  I  were  you." 

"Oh,  I  like  to  step  along  briskly,"  I  said.  And 
briskly  on  we  went. 

M}^  wife  had  screwed  up  the  machine  in  the  knap- 
sack more  than  usual,  and  walking  seemed  scarcely 
any  effort  at  all.  I  carried  a  long  alpenstock,  and 
when  we  reached  the  mountain  and  began  the  ascent, 
I  found  that  with  the  help  of  this  and  my  knapsack  I 


92  A    TALE  OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

could  go  uphill  at  a  wonderful  rate.  My  companion 
had  taken  the  lead,  so  as  to  show  me  how  to  climb. 
Making  a  detour  over  some  rocks,  I  quickly  passed 
him  and  went  ahead.  After  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  keep  up  with  me.  I  ran  up  steep  places,  I  cut 
off  the  windings  of  the  path  by  lightly  clambering 
over  rocks,  and  even  when  I  followed  the  beaten  track 
my  step  was  as  rapid  as  if  I  had  been  walking  on 
level  ground. 

"  Look  here  !  "  shouted  the  Alpine  Club  man  from 
below,  "you'll  kill  yourself  if  j^ou  go  at  that  rate! 
That's  no  way  to  climb  mountains." 

"  It's  my  way  !  "  I  cried.     And  on  I  skipped. 

Twenty  minutes  after  I  arrived  at  the  summit,  my 
companion  joined  me,  puffing,  and  wiping  his  red  face 
with  his  handkerchief. 

"Confound  it!"  he  cried,  "I  never  came  up  a 
mountain  so  fast  in  my  life." 

"  You  need  not  have  hurried,"  I  said,  coolly. 

"  I  was  afraid  something  would  happen  to  you," 
he  growled,  "  and  I  wanted  to  stop  you.  I  never  saw 
a  person  climb  in  such  an  utterly  absurd  way." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  call  it  absurd,"  I  said, 
smiling  with  an  air  of  superiority.  "I  arrived  here 
in  a  perfectly  comfortable  condition,  neither  heated 
nor  wearied." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  walked  off  to  a  little  dis- 
tance, fanning  himself  with  his  hat  and  growling  words 
which  I  did  not  catch.  After  a  time  I  proposed  to 
descend. 

"  You  must  be  careful  as  you  go  down,"  he  said. 


A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  93 

*'  It  is  much  more  dangerous  to  go  down  steep  places 
than  to  climb  up." 

"  I  am  always  prudent,"  I  answered,  and  started  in 
advance.  I  found  the  descent  of  the  mountain  much 
more  pleasant  than  the  ascent.  It  was  positively  ex- 
hilarating. I  jumped  from  rocks  and  bluffs  eight  and 
ten  feet  in  height,  and  touched  the  ground  as  gently  as 
if  I  had  stepped  down  but  two  feet.  I  ran  down  steep 
paths,  and,  with  the  aid  of  my  alpenstock,  stopped 
myself  in  an  instant.  I  was  careful  to  avoid  danger- 
ous places,  but  the  runs  and  jumps  I  made  were  such 
as  no  man  had  ever  made  before  upon  that  mountain- 
side.    Once  only  I  heard  my  companion's  voice. 

"  You'll  break  your neck  !  "  he  yelled. 

"  Never  fear  !  "  I  called  back,  and  soon  left  him  far 
above. 

"When  I  reached  the  bottom  I  would  have  waited  for 
him,  but  my  activity  had  warmed  me  up,  and  as  a  cool 
evening  breeze  was  beginning  to  blow  I  thought  it  bet- 
ter not  to  stop  and  take  cold.  Half  an  hour  after  m}' 
arrival  at  the  hotel  I  came  down  to  the  court,  cool, 
fresh,  and  dressed  for  dinner,  and  just  in  time  to  meet 
the  Alpine  man  as  he  entered,  hot,  dust}',  and  growl- 
ing. 

"  Excuse  me  for  not  waiting  for  you,"  I  said  ;  but 
without  stopping  to  hear  my  reason,  he  muttered  some- 
thing about  waiting  in  a  place  where  no  one  would  care 
to  stay  and  passed  into  the  house. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  what  I  had  done  gratified 
my  pique  and  tickled  m}'  vanity. 

''  I  think  now,"  I  said,  when  I  related  the  matter  to 


94  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY. 

my  wife,  "  that  he  will  scarcely  say  that  I  am  not  up 
to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  answered,  "  that  it  was  exact- 
ly fair.     He  did  not  know  how  3'ou  were  assisted." 

"It  was  fair  enough,"  I  said.  ''He  is  enabled  to 
climb  well  by  the  inherited  vigor  of  his  constitution 
and  by  his  training.  He  did  not  tell  me  what  methods 
of  exercise  he  used  to  get  those  great  muscles  upon  his 
legs.  I  am  enabled  to  climb  by  the  exercise  of  my 
intellect.  My  method  is  my  business  and  his  method 
is  his  business.     It  is  all  perfectly  fair." 

Still  she  persisted : 

"  He  thought  that  you  climbed  with  your  legs,  and 
not  with  your  head." 

And  now,  after  this  long  digression,  necessary  to 
explain  how  a  middle-aged  couple  of  slight  pedestrian 
ability,  and  loaded  with  a  heavy  knapsack  and  basket, 
should  have  started  out  on  a  rough  walk  and  climb, 
fourteen  miles  in  all,  we  will  return  to  ourselves,  stand- 
ing on  the  little  bluff  and  gazing  out  upon  the  sunset 
view.  When  the  sky  began  to  fade  a  little  we  turned 
from  it  and  prepared  to  go  back  to  the  town. 

''  Where  is  the  basket?  "  I  said. 

''I  left  it  right  here,"  answered  my  wife.  ''I  un- 
screwed the  machine  and  it  lay  perfectly  flat." 

"  Did  you  afterward  take  out  the  bottles?  "  I  asked, 
seeing  them  lying  on  the  grass. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  did.  I  had  to  take  out  yours  in 
order  to  get  at  mine." 

''Then,"  said  I,  after  looking  all  about  the  grassy 
patch  on  which  we  stood,  "I  am  afraid  you  did  not 


A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  95 

entirely  unscrew  the  instrument,  and  that  when  the 
weight  of  the  bottles  was  removed  the  basket  gently 
rose  into  the  air.** 

"  It  may  be  so,"  she  said,  lugubriously.  *'  The  bas- 
ket was  behind  me  as  I  drank  my  wine.'* 

''  I  believe  that  is  just  what  has  happened,"  I  said. 
"  Look  up  there  !     I  vow  that  is  our  basket !  " 

I  pulled  out  my  field-glass  and  directed  it  at  a  little 
speck  high  above  our  heads.  It  was  the  basket  float- 
ing high  in  the  air.  I  gave  the  glass  to  my  wife  to 
look,  but  she  did  not  want  to  use  it. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  cried.  "I  can't  walk 
home  without  that  basket.  It's  perfectly  dreadful!" 
And  she  looked  as  if  she  was  going  to  cry. 

"Do  not  distress  yourself,"  I  said,  although  I  was 
a  good  deal  disturbed  myself.  "We  shall  get  home 
very  well.  You  shall  put  your  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
while  I  put  my  arm  around  you.  Then  you  can 
screw  up  my  machine  a  good  deal  higher,  and  it  will 
support  us  both.  In  this  way  I  am  sure  that  we  shall 
get  on  very  well." 

We  carried  out  this  plan,  and  managed  to  walk  on 
with  moderate  comfort.  To  be  sure,  with  the  knap- 
sack pulling  me  upward,  and  the  weight  of  my  wife 
pulling  me  down,  the  straps  hurt  me  somewhat,  which 
they  had  not  done  before.  We  did  not  spring  lightly 
over  the  wall  into  the  road,  but,  still  clinging  to  each 
other,  we  clambered  awkwardly  over  it.  The  road  for 
the  most  part  declined  gently  toward  the  town,  and 
with  moderate  ease  we  made  our  way  along  it.  But 
we  walked  much  more  slowly  than  we  had  done  before, 


BQ  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

and  it  was  quite  dark  when  we  reached  our  hotel.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  light  inside  the  court  it  would 
have  been  difficult  for  us  to  find  it.  A  traveling-car- 
riage was  standing  before  the  entrance,  and  against 
the  light.  It  was  necessary  to  pass  around  it,  and  my 
wife  went  first.  I  attempted  to  follow  her,  but,  strange 
to  say,  there  was  nothing  under  my  feet.  I  stepped 
vigorously,  but  only  wagged  my  legs  in  the  air.  To 
my  horror  I  found  that  I  was  rising  in  the  air !  I  soon 
saw,  by  the  light  below  me,  that  I  was  some  fifteen 
feet  from  the  ground.  The  carriage  drove  away,  and 
in  the  darkness  T  was  not  noticed.  Of  course  I  knew 
what  had  happened.  The  instrument  in  my  knapsack 
had  been  screwed  up  to  such  an  intensity,  in  order 
to  support  both  myself  and  my  wife,  that  when  her 
weight  was  removed  the  force  of  the  negative  gravity 
was  sufficient  to  raise  me  from  the  ground.  But  I  was 
glad  to  find  that  when  I  had  risen  to  the  height  I  have 
mentioned  I  did  not  go  up  any  higher,  but  hung  in  the 
air,  about  on  a  level  with  the  second  tier  of  windows 
of  the  hotel. 

I  now  began  to  try  to  reach  the  screw  in  my  knap- 
sack in  order  to  reduce  the  force  of  the  negative  grav- 
ity ;  but,  do  what  I  would,  I  could  not  get  my  hand  to 
it.  The  machine  in  the  knapsack  had  been  placed  so 
as  to  support  me  in  a  well-balanced  and  comfortable 
way ;  and  in  doing  this  it  had  been  impossible  to  set 
the  screw  so  that  I  could  reach  it.  But  in  a  tempo- 
rary arrangement  of  the  kind  this  had  not  been  con- 
sidered necessary,  as  my  wife  always  turned  the  screw 
for  me  until  sufficient  lifting-power  had  been  attained. 


A    TALE    OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  97 

I  had  intended,  as  I  have  said  before,  to  construct  a 
negative  gravity  waistcoat,  in  which  the  screw  should 
be  in  front,  and  entirely  under  the  wearer's  control ; 
but  this  was  a  thing  of  the  future. 

When  I  found  that  I  could  not  turn  the  screw  I  be- 
gan to  be  much  alarmed.  Here  I  was,  dangling  in  the 
air,  without  any  means  of  reaching  the  ground.  I 
could  not  expect  my  wife  to  return  to  look  for  me,  as 
she  would  naturally  suppose  I  had  stopped  to  speak  to 
some  one.  I  thought  of  loosening  myself  from  the 
knapsack,  but  this  would  not  do,  for  I  should  fall 
heavily,  and  either  kill  m3'self  or  break  some  of  my 
bones.  I  did  not  dare  to  call  for  assistance,  for  if  any 
of  the  simple-minded  inhabitants  of  the  town  had  dis- 
covered me  floating  in  the  air  they  would  have  taken 
me  for  a  demon,  and  would  probably  have  shot  at  me. 
A  moderate  breeze  was  blowing,  and  it  wafted  me 
gently  down  the  street.  If  it  had  blown  me  against 
a  tree  I  would  have  seized  it,  and  have  endeavored, 
so  to  speak,  to  climb  down  it ;  but  there  were  no  trees. 
There  was  a  dim  street  lamp  here  and  there,  but 
reflectors  above  them  threw  their  light  upon  the  pave- 
ment, and  none  up  to  me.  On  many  accounts  I 
was  glad  that  the  night  was  so  dark,  for,  much  as  I 
desired  to  get  down,  I  wanted  no  one  to  see  me  in  my 
strange  position,  which,  to  any  one  but  myself  and 
wife,  would  be  utterty  unaccountable.  If  I  could  rise 
as  high  as  the  roofs  I  might  get  on  one  of  them,  and, 
tearing  off  an  armful  of  tiles,  so  load  m3'self  that  I 
would  be  heavy  enough  to  descend.  But  I  did  not  rise 
to  the  eaves  of  any  of  the  houses.     If  there  had  been 


98  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

a  telegraph-pole,  or  anything  of  the  kind  that  I  could 
have  clung  to,  I  would  have  taken  off  the  knapsack, 
and  would  have  endeavored  to  scramble  down  as  well 
as  I  could.  But  there  was  nothing  I  could  cling  to. 
Even  the  water-spouts,  if  I  could  have  reached  the 
face  of  the  houses,  were  imbedded  in  the  walls.  At 
an  open  window,  near  which  I  was  slowly  blown,  I  saw 
two  little  boys  going  to  bed  by  the  light  of  a  dim  can- 
dle. I  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  they  would  see  me 
and  raise  an  alarm.  I  actually  came  so  near  to  the 
window  that  I  threw  out  one  foot  and  pushed  against 
the  wall  with  such  force  that  I  went  nearly  across  the 
street.  I  thought  I  caught  sight  of  a  frightened  look 
on  the  face  of  one  of  the  bo^'s ;  but  of  this  I  am  not 
sure,  and  I  heard  no  cries.  I  still  floated,  dangling, 
down  the  street.  What  was  to  be  done?  Should  I 
call  out?  In  that  case,  if  I  were  not  shot  or  stoned, 
my  strange  predicament,  and  the  secret  of  my  inven- 
tion, would  be  exposed  to  the  world.  If  I  did  not  do 
this,  I  must  either  let  myself  drop  and  be  killed  or 
mangled,  or  hang  there  and  die.  When,  during  the 
course  of  the  night,  the  air  became  more  rarefied,  I 
might  rise  higher  and  higher,  perhaps  to  an  altitude  of 
one  or  two  hundred  feet.  It  would  then  be  impossible 
for  the  people  to  reach  me  and  get  me  down,  even  if 
they  were  convinced  that  I  was  not  a  demon.  I  should 
then  expire,  and  when  the  birds  of  the  air  had  eaten 
all  of  me  that  they  could  devour,  I  should  forever  hang 
above  the  unlucky  town,  a  dangling  skeleton,  with  a 
knapsack  on  its  back. 

Such  thoughts  were  not  re-assuring,  and  I  determined 


A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  99 

\\vdt  if  I  could  find  no  means  of  getting  down  without 
assistance,  I  would  call  out  and  run  all  risks ;  but  so 
long  as  I  could  endure  the  tension  of  the  straps  I 
would  hold  out  and  hope  for  a  tree  or  a  pole.  Perhaps 
it  might  rain,  and  my  wet  clothes  would  then  become 
so  heavy  that  I  would  descend  as  low  as  the  top  of  a 
lamp-post. 

As  this  thought  was  passing  through  my  mind  I  saw 
a  spark  of  light  upon  the  street  approaching  me.  I 
rightly  imagined  that  it  came  from  a  tobacco-pipe,  and 
presently  I  heard  a  voice.  It  was  that  of  the  Alpine 
Club  man.  Of  all  people  in  the  world  I  did  not  want 
him  to  discover  me,  and  I  hung  as  motionless  as  pos- 
sible. The  man  was  speaking  to  another  person  who 
was  walking  with  him. 

"  He  is  crazy  beyond  a  doubt,"  said  the  Alpine 
man.  ''Nobody  but  a  maniac  could  have  gone  up  and 
down  that  mountain  as  he  did  !  He  hasn't  any  mus- 
cles, and  one  need  only  look  at  him  to  know  that  he 
couldn't  do  any  climbing  in  a  natural  way.  It  is  only 
the  excitement  of  insanity  that  gives  him  strength." 

The  two  now  stopped  almost  under  me,  and  the 
speaker  continued : 

"  Such  things  are  very  common  with  maniacs.  At 
times  they  acquire  an  unnatural  strength  which  is  per- 
fectly wonderful.  I  have  seen  a  little  fellow  struggle 
and  fight  so  that  four  strong  men  could  not  hold  him." 

Then  the  other  person  spoke  : 

"I  am  afraid  what  you  say  is  too  true,"  he  re- 
marked.    "  Indeed,  I  have  known  it  for  some  time." 

At  these  words  my  breath  almost  stopped.     It  was 


100  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY. 

the  voice  of  Mr.  Gilbert,  my  townsman,  and  the  father 
of  Janet.  It  must  have  been  he  who  had  arrived  in 
the  traveling-carriage.  He  was  acquainted  with  4he 
Alpine  Club  man^  and  they  were  talking  of  me.  Proper 
or  improper,  I  listened  with  all  my  ears. 

"It  is  a  very  sad  case,"  Mr.  Gilbert  continued. 
"  My  daughter  was  engaged  to  marry  his  son,  but  I 
broke  off  the  match.  I  could  not  have  her  marry  the 
son  of  a  lunatic,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  his 
conditiop-  He  has  been  seen  —  a  man  of  his  age,  and 
the  head  of  a  family  —  to  load  himself  up  with  a  heavy 
knapsack,  which  there  was  no  earthly  necessity  for  him 
to  cai'ry,  and  go  skipping  along  the  road  for  miles, 
vaulting  over  fences  and  jumping  over  rocks  and 
ditches  like  a  j'oung  calf  or  a  colt.  I  myself  saw  a 
most  heart-rending  instance  of  how  a  kindly  man's 
nature  can  be  changed  by  the  derangement  of  his  in- 
tellect. I  was  at  some  distance  from  his  house,  but 
I  plainly  saw  him  harness  a  little  donkey  which  he 
owns  to  a  large  two-horse  wagon  loaded  with  stone, 
and  beat  and  lash  the  poor  little  beast  until  it  drew  the 
heavy  load  some  distance  along  the  public  road.  I 
would  have  remonstrated  with  him  on  this  horrible  cru- 
elty, but  he  had  the  wagon  back  in  his  yard  before  I 
could  reach  him." 

"Oh,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  insanity,"  said 
the  Alpine  Club  man,  "  and  he  oughtn't  to  be  allowed 
to  travel  about  in  this  way.  Some  day  he  will  pitch 
his  wife  over  a  precipice  just  for  the  fun  of  seeing  her 
shoot  through  the  air." 

"I  am  sorry  he  is  here,"  said  Mr;~Gilfeert,  "  for  it 


A    TALE    OF  NEGATIVF.    GHAVJTY.  JOl,^ 

would  be  very  painful  to  meet  him.  My  daughter  and 
I  will  retire  very  soon,  and  go  away  as  early  to-morrow 
morning  as  possible,  so  as  to  avoid  seeing  him." 

And  then  they  walked  back  to  the  hotel. 

For  a  few  moments  I  hung,  utterly  forgetful  of  my 
condition,  and  absorbed  in  the  consideration  of  these 
revelations.  One  idea  now  filled  my  mind.  Every- 
thing must  be  explained  to  Mr.  Gilbert,  even  if  it 
should  be  necessary  to  have  him  called  to  me,  and  |or 
me  to  speak  to  him  from  the  upper  air.  -- — Jk  ^^^' 

Just  then  I  saw  something  white  approaching  me 
along  the  road.  My  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  and  I  perceived  that  it  was  an  upturned 
face.  I  recognized  the  hurried  gait,  the  form  ;  it  was 
my  wife.  As  she  came  near  me  I  called  her  name, 
and  in  the  same  breath  entreated  her  not  to  scream. 
It  must  have  been  an  effort  for  her  to  restrain  herself, 
but  she  did  it. 

'•  You  must  help  me  to  get  down,"  I  said,  '^  without 
anybody  seeing  us." 

'•  What  shall  I  do?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Try  to  catch  hold  of  this  string." 

Taking  a  piece  of  twine  from  my  pocket,  I  low- 
ered one  end  to  her.  But  it  was  too  short ;  she  could 
not  reach  it.  I  then  tied  my  handkerchief  to  it,  but 
still  it  was  not  lono-  enouo-h. 

"I  can  get  more  string,  or  handkerchiefs,"  she 
whispered,  hurriedly. 

"  No,"  I  said  ;  "  you  could  not  get  them  up  to  me. 
Rut,  leaning  against  the  hotel  wall,  on  this  side,  in  the 
corner,  just  inside  of  the  garden  gate,  are  some  fishing- 


'  102  "!     ' ' '  ;  Al  TAL.^J-  OF-  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

poles.  I  have  seen  them  there  eveiy  day.  You  can 
easily  find  them  in  the  dark.  Go,  please,  and  bring 
me  one  of  those." 

The  hotel  was  not  far  away,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
m}'  wife  returned  with  a  fishing-pole.  She  stood  on 
tip-toe,  and  reached  it  high  in  air ;  but  all  she  could 
do  was  to  strike  my  feet  and  legs  with  it.  My  most 
frantic  exertions  did  not  enable  me  to  get  my  hands 
low  enough  to  touch  it. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  ;  and  the  rod  was  with- 
drawn. 

I  knew  what  she  was  doing.  There  was  a  hook  and 
line  attached  to  the  pole,  and  with  womanly  dexterity 
she  was  fastening  the  hook  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
rod.  Soon  she  reached  up,  and  gently  struck  at  my 
legs.  After  a  few  attempts  the  hook  caught  in  my 
trousers,  a  little  below  my  right  knee.  Then  there 
was  a  slight  pull,  a  long  scratch  down  my  leg,  and  the 
hook  was  stopped  by  the  top  of  my  boot.  Then  came 
a  steady  downward  pull,  and  I  felt  myself  descending. 
Gently  and  firmly  the  rod  was  drawn  down  ;  carefully 
the  lower  end  was  kept  free  from  the  ground ;  and  in 
a  few  moments  my  ankle  was  seized  with  a  vigorous 
grasp.  Then  some  one  seemed  to  climb  up  me,  my 
feet  touched  the  ground,  an  arm  was  thrown  around 
my  neck,  the  hand  of  another  arm  was  busy  at  the 
back  of  my  knapsack,  and  I  soon  stood  firmly  in 
the  road,  entirely  divested  of  negative  gravity. 

'^Oh,  that  I  should  have  forgotten,"  sobbed  my 
wife,  "  and  that  I  should  have  dropped  your  arms, 
and  let  you  go  up  into  the  air !     At  first  I  thought  that 


A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  103 

you  had  stopped  below,  and  it  was  only  a  little  while 
ago  that  the  truth  flashed  upon  me.  Then  I  rushed 
out  and  began  looking  up  for  you.  I  knew  that  you 
had  wax  matches  in  your  pocket,  and  hoped  that 
you  would  keep  on  striking  them,  so  that  you  would 
be  seen." 

"  But  I  did  not  wish  to  be  seen,"  I  said,  as  we  hur- 
ried to  the  hotel;  "and  I  can  never  be  sufficiently 
thankful  that  it  was  you  who  found  me  and  brought 
me  down.  Do  you  know  that  it  is  Mr.  Gilbert  and 
his  daughter  who  have  just  arrived  ?  I  must  see  him 
instantly.  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you  when  I  come 
upstairs." 

I  took  off  my  knapsack  and  gave  it  to  my  wife,  who 
carried  it  to  our  room,  while  I  went  to  look  for  Mr. 
G41bert.  Fortunately  I  found  him  just  as  he  was  about 
to  go  up  to  his  chamber.  He  took  my  offered  hand, 
but  looked  at  me  sadly  and  gravely. 

"Mr.  Gilbert,"  I  said,  "I  must  speak  to  you  in 
private.  Let  us  step  into  this  room.  There  is  no  one 
here." 

"My  friend,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert,  "it  will  be  much 
better  to  avoid  discussing  this  subject.  It  is  very 
painful  to  both  of  us,  and  no  good  can  come  from 
talking  of  it." 

"  You  can  not  now  comprehend  what  it  is  I  want  to 
say  to  you,"  I  replied.  "  Come  in  here,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  you  will  be  very  glad  that  you  listened  to 
me." 

My  manner  was  so  earnest  and  impressive  that 
Mr.   Gilbert  was    constrained    to    follow  me,   and   we 


104  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

went  into  a  small  room  called  the  siiioking-room,  bttt^  •  ' 
h^JKliiGh  people  seldom  smoked, -and  closed  the  door. 
I  hnmediately  began  my  statement.  I  told  my  old 
friend  that  I  had  discovered,  by  means  that  I  need  not 
explain  at  present,  that  he  had  considered  me  crazy, 
and  that  now  the  most  important  object  of  my  life  was 
to  set  myself  right  in  his  eyes.  I  thereupon  gave  him 
the  whole  history  of  my  invention,  and  explained  the 
reason  of  the  actions  that  had  appeared  to  him  those 
of  a  lunatic.  I  said  nothing  about  the  little  incident 
of  that  evening.  That  was  a  mere  accident,  and  I  did 
not  care  now  to  speak  of  it. 

Mr.  Gilbert  listened  to  me  very  attentively. 

"Your  wife  is  here?"  he  asked,  when  I  had  fin- 
ished. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  and  she  will  corroborate  my  story 
in  every  item,  and  no  one  could  ever  suspect  her  of 
being  crazy.     I  will  go  and  bring  her  to  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  my  wife  was  in  the  room,  had 
shaken  hands  with  Mr.  Gilbert,  and  had  been  told  of 
my  suspected  madness.     She  turned  pale,  but  smiled. 

"He  did  act  like  a  crazy  man,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
never  supposed  that  anybody  would  think  him  one." 
And  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"And  now,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "perhaps  you  will 
tell  Mr.  Gilbert  how  I  did  all  this." 

And  then  she  told  him  the  story  that  I  had  told. 

Mr.  Gilbert  looked  from  the  one  to  the  other  of  us 
with  a  troubled  air. 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  doubt  either  of  you,  or  rather 
I  do  not  doubt  that  you  believe  what  3^ou  say.     All 


A    TALE    OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  105 

would  be  right  if  I  could  bring  myself  to  credit  that 
such  a  force  as  that  you  speak  of  can  possibly  exist." 

"That  is  a  matter,"  said  I,  "which  I  can  easily 
prove  to  you  by  actual  demonstration.  If  you  can 
wait  a  short  time,  until  my  wife  and  I  have  had  some- 
thing to  eat,  —  for  I  am  nearly  famished,  and  I  am 
sure  she  must  be,  —  I  will  set  your  mind  at  rest  upon 
that  point." 

"I  will  wait  here,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert,  "and  smoke 
a  cigar.  Don't  hurry  yourselves.  I  shall  be  glad 
to  have  some  time  to  think  about  what  you  have  told 
me." 

When  we  had  finished  the  dinner,  which  had  been 
set  aside  for  us,  I  went  upstairs  and  got  my  knapsack, 
and  we  both  joined  Mr.  Gilbert  in  the  smoking-room. 
I  showed  him  the  little  machine,  and  explained,  very 
briefly,  the  principle  of  its  construction.  I  did  not 
give  any  practical  demonstration  of  its  action,  because 
there  were  people  walking  about  the  corridor  who  might 
at  an}'  moment  come  into  the  room ;  but,  looking  out 
of  the  window,  I  saw  that  the  night  was  much  clearer. 
The  wind  had  dissipated  the. clouds,  and  the  stars  were 
shining  brightly . .  —^  ----^_.,=^;_  __ 

"If  you  will  come  up  the  street  with  me,"  said  I 
to  Mr.  Gilbert,  ' '  I  will  show  you  how  this  thing 
works." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  see,"  he  answered. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  said  my  wife,  throwing  a 
shawl  over  her  head,    j  And  we  started  up  the  street.      V 

When  we  were  outside  the  little  town  I  found  tlie 
starlight   was    quite    sufficient   for  m^'  purpose.     The 


106  A    TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

white  roadway,  the  low  walls,  and  objects  about  us, 
could  easily  be  distinguished. 

"  Now,"  said  I  to  Mr.  Gilbert,  "  I  want  to  put  this 
knapsack  on  you,  and  let  you  see  how  it  feels,  and  how 
it  will  help  you  to  walk."  To  this  he  assented  with 
some  eagerness,  and  I  strapped  it  firmly  on  him.  "  I 
will  now  turn  this  screw,"  said  I,  "  until  you  shall 
become  lighter  and  lighter." 

"  Be  very  careful  not  to  turn  it  too  much,"  said  my 
wife  earnestly. 

"Oh,  you  may  depend  on  me  for  that,"  said  I, 
turning  the  screw  very  gradually. 

Mr.  Gilbert  was  a  stout  man,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
give  the  screw  a  good  many  turns. 

"There  seems  to  be  considerable  hoist  in  it,"  he 
said  directly.     And  then  I  put  my  arms  around  him, 
and  found  that  I  could  raise  him  from  the  ground. 
"  Are  you  lifting  me?  "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise. 
^^  "  Yes  ;  I  did  it  with  ease,"  I  answered. 

"  Upon  —  my  —  word  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Gilbert.     ^ 

I  then  gave  the  screw  a  half  turn  more,  and  told 
him  to  walk  and  run.  He  started  off,  at  first  slowly, 
then  he  made  loiig  strides,  then  he  began  to  run,  and 
then  to  skip  and  jump.  It  had  been  many  years  since 
Mr.  Gilbert  had  skipped  and  jumped.  No  one  was 
in  sight,  and  he  was  free  to  gambol  as  much  as  he 
pleased.  "  Could  you  give  it  another  turn?  "  said  he, 
bounding  up  to  me.  "I  want  to  try  that  wall."  I 
put  on  a  little  more  negative  gravity,  and  he  vaulted 
over  a  five-foot  wall  with  great  ease.  In  an  instant 
he  had  leaped  back  into  the  road,  and  in  two  bounds 


A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY.  107 

was  at  my  side.  "  I  came  down  as  light  as  a  cat," 
he  said.  "There  was  never  anything  like  it."  And 
away  he  went  np  the  road,  taking  steps  at  least  eight 
feet  long,  leaving  my  wife  and  me  laughing  heartily 
at  the  preternatural  agility  of  our  stout  friend.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  was  with  us  again.  "Take  it  off," 
he  said.  "  If  I  wear  it  any  longer  I  shall  want  one 
myself,  and  then  I  shall  be  taken  for  a  crazy  man,  and 
perhaps  clapped  into  an  asylum." 

"Now,"  said  I,  as  I  turned  back  the  screw  before 
unstrapping  the  knapsack,  "  do  you  understand  how 
I  took  long  walks,  and  leaped  and  jumped ;  how  I  ran 
uphill  and  downhill,  and  how  the  little  donkey  drew 
the  loaded  wagon  ?  ' ' 

"I  understand  it  all,"  cried  he.  "I  take  back  all 
I  ever  said  or  thought  about  you,  my  friend." 

"And  Herbert  may  marr}^  Janet?  "  -cried  my  wife. 

'''May  marry  her!"  cried  Mr.  Gilbert.  "Indeed 
he  shall  marry  her,  if  I  have  anything  to  say  about  it ! 
My  poor  girl  has  been  drooping  ever  since  I  told  her 
it  could  not  be." 

■  My  wife  rushed  at  him,  but  whether  she  embraced 
him  or  only  shook  his  hands  I  can  not  say ;  for  I  had 
the  knapsack  in  one  hand,  and  was  rubbing  my  eyes 
ivith  the  other. 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert  directly, 
"  if  you  still  consider  it  to  your  interest  to  keep  your 
invention  a  secret,  I  wish  you  had  never  made  it.  No 
one  having  a  machine  like  that  can  help  using  it,  and 
it  is  often  quite  as  bad  to  be  considered  a  maniac  as 
to  be  one." 


108  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

"My  friend,"  I  cried,  with  some  excitement,  *'I 
have  made  up  my  mind  on  this  subject.  The  little 
machine  in  this  knapsack,  which  is  the  only  one  I  now 
possess,  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me.  But  I  now 
know  it  has  also  been  of  the  greatest  injury  indirectly 
to  me  and  mine,  not  to  mention  some  direct  inconven- 
ience and  danger,  which  I  will  speak  of  another  time. 
The  secret  lies  with  us  three,  and  we  will  keep  it.  But 
the  invention  itself  is  too  full  of  temptation  and  dan- 
ger for  any  of  us.'* 

As  I  said  this  I  held  the  knapsack  with  one  hand 
while  I  quickly  turned  the  screw  with  the  other.  In 
a  few  moments  it  was  high  above  m}^  head,  while  I 
with  difficulty  held  it  down  by  the  straps.  "  Look  !  " 
I  cried.  And  then  I  released  my  hold,  and  the  knap- 
sack shot  into  the  air  and  disappeared  into  the  upper 
gloom. 

I  was  about  to  make  a  remark,  but  had  no  chance, 
for  my  wife  threw  herself  upon  my  bosom,  sobbing 
with  joy. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  —  so  glad!"  she  said.  "And 
you  will  never  make  another?" 

"  Never  another  !  "  I  answered. 

"  And  now  let  us  hurry  in  and  see  Janet,"  said  my 
wife. 

"You  don't  know  how  heavy  and  clumsy  I  feel," 
said  Mr.  Gilbert,  striving  to  keep  up  with  us  as  we 
walked  back.  "  If  I  had  worn  that  thing  much  longer, 
I  should  never  have  been  willing  to  take  it  off !  " 

Janet  had  retired,  but  my  wife  went  up  to  her 
room.  \ 


A    TALE    OF  NEGATIVE    GRAVITY.  109 

"I  think  she  has  felt  it  as  much  as  our  boy,"  she 
said,  when  she  rejoined  me.  "  But  I  tell  you,  my  dear, 
I  left  a  very  happy  girl  in  that  little  bed-chamber  over 
the  garden." 

And  there  were  three  very  happy  elderly  people 
talking  together  until  quite  late  that  evening.  ''I 
shall  write  to  Herbert  to-night,"  I  said,  when  we  sepa- 
rated, "  and  tell  him  to  meet  us  all  in  Geneva.  It  will 
do  the  young  man  no  harm  if  we  interrupt  his  studies 
just  now." 

"You  must  let  me  add  a  postscript  to  the  letter," 
said  Mr.  Gilbert,  "and  I  am  sure  it  will  require  no 
knapsack  with  a  screw  in  the  back  to  bring  him  quickly 
to  us." 

And  it  did  not. 

There  is  a  wonderful  pleasure  in  tripping  over  the 
earth  like  a  winged  Mercury,  and  in  feeling  one's  self 
relieved  of  much  of  that  attraction  of  gravitation  which 
drags  us  down  to  earth,  and  gradually  makes  the  move- 
ment of  our  bodies  but  weariness  and  labor.  But  this 
pleasure  is  not  to  be  compared,  I  think,  to  that  given 
by  the  buoyancy  and  lightness  of  two  young  and  loving 
hearts,  reunited  after  a  separation  which  they  had 
supposed  would  last  for  ever. 

What  became  of  the  basket  and  the  knapsack,  or 
whether  they  ever  met  in  upper  air,  I  do  not  know. 
If  they  but  float  away  and  stay  away  from  ken  of 
mortal  man,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

And  whether  or  not  the  world  will  ever  know  more 
of  the  power  of  negative  gravity  depends  entirely  upon 
the  disposition  of  r»y  son  Herbert,  when — after  a  good 


110  A   TALE   OF  NEGATIVE   GRAVITY. 

many  years,  I  hope  —  he  shall  open  the  packet  my 
lawyers  have  in  keeping. 

[Note. — It  would  be  quite  useless  for  any  one  to 
interview  my  wife  on  this  subject,  for  she  has  entirelj^ 
forgotten  how  my  machine  was  made.  And  as  for 
Mr.  Gilbert,  he  never  knew.] 


THE  CLOVERFIELDS  CARRIAGE, 


"VT'OT  far  from  the  roadside,  in  one  of  the  southern 
-^^  counties  of  Virginia,  there  stood  a  neat  log  cabin, 
inhabited  by  a  worthy  negro  couple,  known  as  Uncle 
Elijah  and  Aunt  Maria.  These  two  had  belonged  to 
a  widow  lad}^,  who  owned  the  estate  of  Cloverfields, 
about  three  miles  away  ;  but  when,  a  few  years  before 
the  opening  of  our  stor}',  the  close  of  the  civil  war  had 
set  them  free,  they,  in  common  with  nearly  all  the  ne- 
groes in  the  county,  thought  it  incumbent  upon  them, 
as  an  assertion  of  their  independence,  to  leave  their 
former  owners,  and  either  work  for  themselves  or  go 
into  service  elsewhere.  Thus  there  was  a  general  shift- 
ing from  plantation  to  plantation.  Uncle  Elijah  and 
his  wife,  both  now  past  middle  age,  left  the  place 
where  they  had  been  born  and  raised,  and  hired  this 
cabin  on  a  neighboring  plantation,  where  by  day's  labor 
and  odd  jobs  on  the  part  of  the  husband,  and  washing 
and  ironing  and  chicken-raising  on  the  part  of  the  wife, 
they  managed  to  live  in  moderate  comfort. 

Elijah  had  been  the  family  coachman,  and  he  had 
found  it  a  hard  thing  to  resign  the  dignity  of  this  posi- 
tion ;  but  had  he  retained  ^t  he  would  virtuall}^  have 

111 


112  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

admitted  to  all  his  brethren  and  sisters  that  freedom 
had  done  nothing  for  him.  In  order  to  show  that  he 
was  now  director  of  his  own  fortunes,  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  drop  the  reins  by  which  he  had  so  skill- 
fully directed  and  controlled  the  two  black  carriage- 
horses  which  had  been  his  especial  care  since  their  early 
colthood. 

But  his  love  for  his  old  mistress  and  his  sense  of  his 
former  dignity  never  left  him,  and  now,  when  from  afar 
he  saw  approaching  the  familiar  carriage,  he  would 
drop  his  work,  or  get  up  from  his  meal,  and  watch  it 
until  it  had  entirely  disappeared  from  sight.  Some- 
times, if  it  were  near  enough,  he  would  advance,  hat 
in  hand,  to  speak  to  his  old  mistress ;  but  this  he  did 
not  often  do,  —  people  might  think  he  wanted  to  go 
back. 

One  autumn  evening,  just  about  dusk,  as  Uncle 
Elijah  came  out  of  his  cabin,  he  perceived,  near  the 
top  of  a  long  hill  on  the  road,  the  Cloverfields  carriage 
and  horses.  Other  eyes  in  the  growing  gloom  might 
have  not  known  what  vehicle  it  was,  but  the  eyes  of 
Uncle  Elijah  could  make  no  mistake.  As  he  stood  and 
gazed  they  sparkled  with  emotion. 

"  Whar  Miss  Jane  gwine  dis  time  o'  night?  An' 
wot's  de  matter  wid  dat  kerridge !  "  he  ejaculated. 
"  I'll  be  dangdiddled  ef  de  eberlastin'  fool  dat's  dribin' 
hain't  gwine  an'  chain'  up  de  hin'  wheel  as  ef  it  was  a 
hay-wagin.  An'  who's  de  no'  count  idyit  wot  can't 
dribe  down  Red  Hill  widout  chainin'  de  wheel?  Lor'  ! 
how  he  do  bump  de  stones !  An'  how  dat  mus'  rile 
Miss  Jane  !     But  I  reckin  she  mus'  done  got  use'  tor 


THE    CLOVERFIELDS    CARRIAGE.  113 

bein'  riled,  a  pickin'  up  all  sorts  o'  niggahs  to  dribe  her 
kerridge." 

When  the  vehicle  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  not 
far  from  the  cabin,  it  stopped,  and  the  driver  got  down 
to  unchain  the  wheel.  Possessed  by  a  sudden  thought. 
Uncle  Elijah  rushed  into  his  house,  from  which  his  wife 
was  happily  absent,  clapped  on  his  hat,  and  seized  his 
coat.  Keeping  well  away  from  the  road,  he  ran  to- 
wards the  carriage,  climbed  the  fence,  and  approached 
the  vehicle  in  the  rear,  where  he  would  not  be  seen  by 
any  of  its  occupants.  When  he  reached  the  man,  who 
had  just  unfastened  the  chain,  the  soul  of  Uncle  Elijah 
was  filled  with  righteous  indignation  at  finding  it  was 
Montague  Braxton,  a  negro  shoemaker  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. Without  a  word  he  seized  the  cobbler  coachman 
by  the  collar,  including  a  good  part  of  one  ear  in  his 
grasp,  and  led  him  away  from  the  carriage,  Montague, 
who  knew  who  had  clutched  him,  submitting  without  a 
tv'ord.  When  they  had  hurriedly  gone  a  dozen  steps 
Elijah  hissed  in  the  other's  ear : 

*'  Is  you  comin'  back  ter-night?  " 

"  Yaas,'*  whispered  the  shoemaker,  very  much  as- 
tonished at  the  manner  of  his  interviewer. 

'•Well,  den,  jus'  you  go  'long  up  ter  my  house, 
split  de  wood  fur  Aun'  M'riar,  fotch  a  bucket  ob  water 
from  de  spring,  and  stay  hyar  till  I  come  back.  I'se 
gwine  ter  dribe  dis  kerridge  m^'se'f .  Ain't  got  no  time 
to  say  no  moh.     Now,  git !  " 

Montague,  who  knew  "  Uncle  'Lijah  "  as  a  pillar  of 
strength  in  the  church,  as  well  as  a  pillar  of  not  ver}^ 
easily  restrained  strength  in  his  own  proper  person, 


114  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

made  no  answer,  but  noiselessly  slipped  away.  Elijah 
passed  quickly  around  the  carriage,  keeping  at  a  little 
distance  from  it  to  avoid  being  recognized  by  those 
within,  although  he  scarcely  need  have  feared  this 
in  the  dusky  light,  and  mounted  to  the  elevated 
seat  in  front ;  when,  taking  up  the  reins  and  whip,  he 
started  the  horses,  and  the  equipage  moved  on.  Now 
sat  Uncle  Elijah  like  a  king  upon  his  throne,  and  his 
soul  was  moved  within  him  with  a  joy  that  he  had  not 
known  for  years.  Here  were  Gamma  and  Delta,  the 
two  horses  that  he  had  driven  so  long,  a  little  older,  a 
little  browner  in  their  manes  and  tails,  but  still  the 
same  good  horses,  with  plenty  of  strength  and  spirit 
left ;  here  was  the  same  old  harness  —  he  could  recog- 
nize it  even  in  the  dark  —  badly  kept,  and  badly  put  on, 
but  still  the  same  ;  here  were  the  reins  that  once  no 
hand  but  his  had  ever  dared  to  touch  ;  and  here  the 
whip,  very  old  now  and  shabby,  with  a  miserable  new 
lash  on  it,  but  still  the  same  whip  he  used  to  wield ; 
and  here  was  the  high  seat  on  which  he  alone  had  sat 
from  the  time  he  became  a  man  in  years  until  that  day 
when  his  freedom  made  him  another  man. 

Now  the  thoughts  of  the  regenerated  coachman  ran 
riot  in  his  brain.  Indignation  towards  the  shoemaker 
who  had  dared  to  drive  the  family  carriage  of  his  old 
mistress  on  a  night  which  promised  to  be  as  dark  as 
this,  first  took  entire  possession  of  him. 

"  Dat  no  'count  cobbler!"  he  said  to  himself. 
''  Wot  he  know  'bout  dribin'  ?  An'  o'  nights,  too  !  An' 
wid  de  crick  up.  An'  wid  de  water  all  obcr  de  road 
'longside  for  harf  a  mile.     An'  de  road  pas'  Colonel 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE.  115 

Tom  Giles's  all  washed  so  dat  he  couldn't  help  slidin' 
inter  de  gully  to  sabe  his  soul,  ef  he  hadn't  fus'  druv 
inter  de  crick,  an'  tumbled  de  kemdge  an'  bosses,  an' 
his  own  eberlastin'  fool  se'f,  top  o'  Miss  Jane,  an' 
mos'  likely  little  Miss  Jane  an'  Miss  Almira  Gay.  But 
dey's  all  right  now  I'se  dribin'.  You  ken  bet  your  life 
on  dat." 

If  any  one  had  heard  this  remark,  he  would  have 
been  quite  safe  in  accepting  the  wager,  for,  by  day  or 
by  night,  washed  by  rains,  covered  by  freshets,  or  in 
their  normal  condition.  Uncle  Elijah  knew  the  roads  in 
this  neighborhood  better  than  any  man  alive,  even 
since  he  had  become  a  freeman  he  had  studied  the  diffi- 
culties and  obstructions  of  the  highways  as  he  walked 
to  and  from  his  work.  "  Ef  I  was  a  dribin'  hyar,"  he 
would  say  to  himself,  "I'd  put  dis  fron'  wheel  roun' 
dat  little  stone,  den  one  small  twis'  ud  bring  de  hin' 
wheel  on  dis  side  ob  it,  an'  I'd  clean  miss  de  big  rock 
in  de  udder  rut." 

Remembering  and  avoiding  the  stones,  deep  ruts, 
and  encroaching  gullies,  Elijah,  like  a  pilot  who  steers 
past  the  rocks  and  sandbars  which  lie  under  the  water, 
as  the  road  now  lay  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  went 
steadily  on,  without  bump  or  jolt  of  any  account.  Pass- 
ing the  flooded  part  of  the  road  without  deviating  a 
foot  to  the  right  or  left  of  the  proper  course,  passing 
the  tobacco  field  of  Colonel  Giles,  where  the  rains  had 
washed  the  road  into  a  shelving  hillside,  without  bump- 
ing an  exposed  rock  or  sliding  towards  a  gully,  he 
reached  the  higher  and  more  level  portion  of  the  road, 
which  was  now  so  comparatively  good  and  compara- 


116  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

tively  clear,  to  the  sharp  eyes  of  horses  and  driver, 
that  Elijah  went  on  at  a  fair  pace,  now  and  then  wav- 
ing his  whip  and  straightening  himself  up  as  a  man 
who  breathes  his  native  air  once  more.  Suddenly  a 
dreadful  thought  flashed  across  his  mind,  and  he  barely 
checked  himself  from  pulling  the  horses  back  on  their 
haunches. 

"  Whar*s  I  gwine? ''  said  he,  almost  aloud.  "  Dat 
double,  eberlastin*  fool  shoemaker  neber  tole  me ! 
Whar  kin  Miss  Jane,  an'  mos'  like  little  Miss  Jane 
an'  Miss  Almu-a  Gay,  be  gwine  at  dis  time?  An' 
comin'  back  ter-night,  too !  Dey  mus'  be  'tendin'  ter 
spen'  de  ebenin'  somewhar,  —  but  whar?" 

Elijah  now  revolved  in  his  mind  every  place  to  which 
he  thought  the  family  might  be  going.  So  far  he  had 
made  no  mistake  because  there  had  been  no  turn  in  the 
road  ;  and  although  he  had  passed  the  place  of  Colonel 
Tom  Giles,  they  could  not  be  going  to  see  him,  for  he 
was  an  old  bachelor,  living  alone,  and  besides  had  gone 
to  Richmond.  A  short  distance  ahead  the  road 
branched,  and  in  one  direction  led  to  the  house  of  Dr. 
Marshall  Gordon,  distant  about  a  mile,  and  in  the  other 
to  the  hospitable  mansion  of  General  William  Tucker. 

''Dey  can't  be  gwine  fur  de  doctor  fur  anybody 
sick,"  thought  Elijah,  "  fur  if  it  had  been  dat  dey'd 
sent  a  boy  on  a  boss,  an'  not  hitched  up  de  kerridge 
wid  a  shoemaker  ter  dribe  ;  an'  I'd  be  dreffel  'shamed 
ter  take  'em  more'n  four  miles  to  de  Gin'ral's  ef  dey 
wasn't  gwine  dar." 

The  nearer  he  approached  the  fork  of  the  road  the 
more  completely  Uncle  Elijah  became  convinced  that 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS    CARRIAGE.  117 

fie  could  not  decide  this  important  question  for  himself. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  get  down 
and  ask  his  old  mistress  where  she  was  going.  This 
was  a  terribly  hard  thing  for  him  to  do.  He  would  be 
obliged  to  tell  the  whole  story,  and  to  admit  that  his 
affection  for  her,  as  strong  as  ever,  had  prompted  him 
to  take  the  driver's  seat.  And  this  was  to  relinquish  a 
portion  of  his  new  freedom  and  manhood.  But  it  had 
to  be  done,  for  the  fork  of  the  road  was  reached. 
Drawing  up  his  horses,  Elijah  descended  from  his  seat, 
and  with  the  reins  in  one  hand,  for  he  was  not  a  man, 
like  the  cobbler,  to  leave  his  horses  standing  free  in  the 
road,  he  reverently  opened  the  carriage  door. 

"  Miss  Jane,"  said  he,  "I  spec'  you  s' prised  to  see 
me  dribin',  but  I  couldn't  stan'  still  an'  let  dat  no 
'count  shoemaker,  wot  don*  know  nuflin  'bout  bosses, 
nor  de  roads  nuther,  an'  night  comiu'  on  pitch  dark, 
dribe  you.  He  hadn't  eben  sense  'nuf  to  tell  me  whar 
you's  gwine,  so  I  begs  you'll  scuse  me  fur  gittin'  down 
ter  ax  you." 

They  were  now  in  the  heavily  shaded  portion  of  the 
road,  and  the  interior  of  the  carriage  was  quite  dark. 
From  the  farthest  corner  of  the  back  seat  came  a  thin, 
low  voice  which  said  to  him:  "Keep  on  now  to  the 
kyars." 

This  reply  surprised  Elijah  in  several  ways.  In  the 
first  place,  he  had  confidently  expected  that  his  old 
mistress  would  say  something  expressive  of  her  satis- 
faction in  finding  herself  under  his  charge  on  such  a 
dark  night  as  this ;  and,  again,  he  was  surprised  to 
hear  that  voice  come  out  of  the  carriaoe.     It  did  not 


118  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

belong  to  Miss  Jane,  nor,  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  to 
any  of  her  family.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
closed  the  door,  and  then,  irresolutely,  mounted  to  his 
seat  and  drove  slowly  on.  He  had  not  proceeded  a 
hundred  yards  before  there  dawned  upon  his  mind 
a  dim  recognition  of  the  voice  which  had  come  from 
the  carriage.  Drawing  up  his  horses  again,  he  quickly 
got  down  and  opened  the  carriage  door. 

*'  Who  in  dar,  anyhow?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  by  no 
means  as  respectful  as  that  he  had  used  before. 

At  this  question  the  opposite  door  of  the  carriage 
suddenly  opened,  and  the  occupant  popped  out  of  it. 
As  this  individual,  upon  reaching  the  ground,  turned, 
and  stood  facing  Uncle  Elijah,  the  latter  could  see,  out- 
lined upon  a  patch  of  sky  behind  him,  the  plainly  dis- 
cernible form  of  the  cobbler,  Montague,  from  whose 
lips  now  burst  forth  a  roar  of  laughter  that  completely 
established  his  identity.  The  outraged  soul  of  Uncle 
Elijah  boiled  and  bubbled  within  him.  He  put  out  his 
left  arm  as  if  he  would  reach  through  the  carriage  and 
clutch  the  scoundrel  by  the  throat.  But  this  was  im- 
possible, and  he  would  not  drop  the  reins  to  run  around 
the  carriage. 

"You  eberlastin'  fool  cobbler!"  he  cried,  "what 
fur  you  go  play  dis  trick  on  me  ?  " 

"I  no  play  no  trick  on  you.  Uncle  'Lijah,"  returned 
Montague,  still  laughing  immoderately.  "  You  played 
de  trick  on  youse'f.  I'se  done  nuffin  but  jus'  keep 
out  your  way.  I  got  up  behin'  so's  ter  see  whar  you 
was  gwine,  an'  den  I  unhooked  de  back  cuttins,  an' 
slipped  inside  'cause  'twas  moh  comf'ble." 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE.  119 

"  I'll  break  your  neck  fur  dat !  "  cried  Uncle  Elijah. 
*'  A  low-down,  yaller  shoemaker  like  you  gittin'  inter 
Miss  Jane's  kerridge  !  " 

''Got  ter  ketch  me  fus',  Uncle  'Lijah,  'fore  you 
break  my  neck,"  replied  the  shoemaker,  still  in  a  merry 
mood. 

''Shet  up  your  fool  talk!  "  cried  Elijah,  "an'  tell 
me  whar  3'ou  was  sent  ter." 

"  I  was  sent  fur  Miss  Polly  Brown,  de  seamstress 
wot  libes  on  Colonel  Tom  Giles's  place,  but  dat  was  a 
long  time  back.  She  done  gone  ter  bed  afore  dis. 
Miss  Jane  tole  me  ter  go  arly  in  the  ebenin',  but  some- 
body done  took  one  ob  de  hoss-collus  fur  de  plow 
team,  an'  I  couldn't  find  it  nowhar,  so  it  got  right 
smart  late  afore  I  started.  An'  now  you  done  tuck  up 
so  much  time,  Uncle  'Lijah,  comin'  way  out  h3'ar  on 
3'our  little  business,  dat  'tain't  no  use  gwine  fur  Miss 
Polly  Brown  till  de  mawniu'.  Whar  is  you  gwine, 
anyhow,  Uncle 'Lijah?" 

To  this  Uncle  EHjah  made  no  answer,  but  his  tone 
moderated  a  little  as  he  asked  :  "  Wot  fur  you  tell  me 
to  keep  on  ter  de  kyars?  " 

"  Cos  I  didn't  know  no  udder  place  ter  go,  ef  it  was 
lef '  ter  me.  'Taint  fur  ter  de  kyars  now,  an'  dar's  alius 
sumfin  dar  furde  fam'ly,  an'  I'd  ruther  go  back  an'  tell 
Miss  Jane  dat  I  done  mistook  whar  she  tole  me  ter  go 
dan  ter  say  I  ain't  been  nowhar." 

Uncle  Elijah's  mind  was  not  a  quick  one,  but  it  did 
not  take  a  very  long  time  for  it  to  dawn  upon  him  that 
in  this  predicament  it  might  be  better  to  go  somewhere 
than  nowhere.     His  anger  had  cooled  down  somewhat. 


120  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

for  he  felt  that  in  his  controversy  with  Montague  he 
had  had  the  worst  of  it.  After  rubbing  the  side  of 
his  head  for  a  few  moments  he  said  shortly  to  the  cob- 
bler, ''Shet  dat  doh',  an'  come  'long  ter  de  kyars. 
Ef  dar's  anyt'ing  dar  fur  de  fam'ly,  you  kin  git  it,  an' 
I'll  dribe  back.  Aint  gwine  ter  trus'  you  wid  dese 
bosses  in  de  night." 

"  Look  hyar.  Uncle  'Lijah,"  said  Montague,  coming 
round  to  the  back  of  the  carriage,  but  keeping  well  out 
of  reach,  "  dar  ain't  gwine  ter  be  no  fitin'  if  I  done  git 
up  'longside  o'  you,  is  dar?  " 

"  Come  'long  hyar,"  said  Uncle  Elijah,  mounting  to 
his  seat ;  "  I  ain't  gwine  ter  fight  while  I  got  dese 
kerridge  an'  bosses  under  my  chawge.  But  I  don'  say 
nuffln  'bout  ter-morrer  mawnin',  min'  dat." 

"  Don'  keer  nufRn'  'bout  mawnin',  long  as  'tain't 
come,"  said  Montague,  getting  up  on  the  other  side. 

The  railroad  station  was  a  little  beyond  Dr.  Marshall 
Gordon's,  and  the  road  to  it  was  one  over  which  Elijah 
had  gone  so  often  that  he  felt  warranted  to  drive  at  a 
good  round  pace,  especially  since  he  knew  that  his  old 
mistress  would  not  be  bumped  if  he  happened  to  strike 
a  stone.  His  recollection  of  his  previous  careful  driv- 
ing made  him  grumble  all  the  more  at  the  shoemaker 
for  having  brought  him  on  such  a  tom-fool  errand. 

"Now  look  hyar.  Uncle  'Lijah,"  said  Montague, 
"  did  you  eber  hear  de  par'ble  ob  de  fox  an'  de  mule?  " 

"  Don'  'member  no  sich  par'ble,"  said  Elijah.  "  Is 
it  in  de  Scripter?" 

"  I  reckin  so,"  said  the  shoemaker.  "  I  neber  read 
it  dar  myse'f  but  I  spec's  it's  from  de  Scripter.     Dar 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE.  121 

was  a  fox  a-gwine  ter  de  well  fur  a  drink  ob  water,  an' 
when  he  got  dar  he  pull  up  de  rope,  an'  sho'  'nuf  dar 
wasn't  no  bucket  to  it.  Dar  had  been  a  baptizin'  at  a 
church  not  fur  off,  an'  as  de  baptizin'  pond  was  all 
dried  up,  some  ob  de  bredren  come  ter  de  well  ter  git 
some  water,  an'  when  dey  saw  dat  de  bucket  was  a 
good  big  one,  dey  fought  dey  mought  as  well  take  it 
'long  to  baptize  de  sister  right  in  it,  cos  she  was  a  little 
chile  on'y  free  weeks  old." 

''Dey  don'  dip  'em  dat  young,"  interrupted  Elijah. 

"  Dis  was  a  long  time  ago,"  said  Montague,  "an'  a 
Mefodis'  baby  at  dat.  An'  when  de  fox  foun'  out  de 
bucket  was  gone,  he  jus'  rar'd  an'  chawged,  for  he  was 
pow'ful  firsty,  habin'  bin  eatin'  fur  his  breakfus'  some 
ob  dat  dar  mean  middhn'  dat  dey  sen's  up  from  Rich- 
mon',  wot  is  moh  salt  dan  meat.  But  sw'arin'  wouldn't 
fotch  de  water  up  ter  him,  an'  so  he  'eluded  ter  climb 
down  de  rope,  an'  git  a  drink  dat  way.  When  he  got 
down  dar  he  drunk,  an'  he  drunk,  an'  he  drunk,  an' 
when  he  felt  mos'  like  fit  to  bus'  he  thought  he'd  had 
enuf,  an'  he'd  go  up  ag'in.  But  when  dat  ole  fox  try 
ter  climb  up  de  rope,  he  fin'  it  right  smart  dif'rent  wuk 
from  comin'  down,  an'  he  couldn't  git  up  nohow. 
When  he  foun'  dis  out  he  was  pow'ful  disgruntled,  fur 
he  had  to  stan'  in  de  water,  an'  it  was  mighty  cole,  an' 
he  'spected  he'd  git  de  rheumatiz,  an'  have  to  have 
his  legs  wrop  up  in  red  flannel  an'  turpentine.  While 
he  was  'volvin'  in  his  min'  wot  he'd  do  to  dat  sto'- 
keeper  wot  sole  him  dat  salt  middlin',  'long  come  a' 
army  mule  an'  look  down  de  well.  He  was  p'iutedly 
ole,  dat  mule,  an'  branded  wid  U.S.  twice  on  bof  sides, 


122  THE   CLOVKRFIELDS    CARRIAGE. 

what  had  been  guv  to  a  preacher  at  Pow'tan  Co' at 
House  by  de  guv'ment,  in  de  place  ob  a  good  mule  dat 
de  Yankees  took." 

"  Th'aiu't  no  mention  of  Pow'tan  Co'at  House  in 
de  Scripter,"  interrupted  Elijah. 

"  Don'  know  'bout  dat,"  said  Montague  ;  "  I  reckin 
it's  a  Scripter  name.  Anyhow,  de  army  mule  he  poke 
he  head  down  de  well,  an'  holler  :  '  Hello  !  Whar  de 
bucket?  an'  who  down  dar?  '  '  Mawnin',  Cap'n  Mule,' 
said  de  fox.  He  was  one  ob  dem  red  foxes  dat  ben 
hunt  so  offen  by  Gin'ral  Tucker's  pack  of  hounds  dat 
it  make  him  pow'ful  peart.  '  De  bucket  no  'count, 
Cap'n.  De  bottom's  bruck  out,  an'  it's  been  throwed 
away.  Eberybody  comes  down  de  well  arfter  de  water, 
an'  I  jus'  tell  you,  Cap'n,  it's  mighty  good  dis  mawn- 
in'. Somebody  mus'  'a'  drop'  a  tickler  an'  a  couple 
ob  pounds  ob  sugar  down  hyar,  fur  it  tastes  jus'  like 
apple  toddy.'  An'  de  fox  he  'gan  to  lap  wid  he  tongue 
as  ef  he  could  neber  git  enuf .  When  de  army  mule  he 
heard  'bout  de  apple  toddy,  he  say  no  moh,  but  jus' 
slid  down  de  rope.  '  Hello  !  '  he  holler  when  he  git  to 
de  bottom.  '  How  you  put  your  head  down  to  drink? 
Th'aiu't  no  room  fur  me  ter  put  my  head  down.'  '  Dat's 
so,'  said  de  fox,  who  was  scrouging  ag'in'  de  wall  to 
git  out  ob  de  way;  '  yon  do  fill  up  dis  well  'mazin', 
an',  sho'  'nuf,  dar  ain't  no  room  fur  you  ter  put  your 
head  down.  But  neber  you  min'.  Jus'  stan'  still,  an' 
I'll  fix  all  dat.'  De  army  mule,  his  hind  legs  was  in 
de  bottom  ob  de  well,  his  forelegs  was  ag'in'  de  sides, 
an'  he  great  long  neck  was  stickin'  eber  so  high  up. 
Him  gittin'  right  smart  skeered  'bout  dis  time.    De  fox 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE.  123 

he  jus'  jump  on  de  mule  back,  den  on  he  neck,  den  on 
he  head,  an'  den  he  gib  one  skip  right  out  ob  de  well. 
'Hello,  dar ! '  hollered  de  mule.  *  Whar  you  gwine? 
Come  back  hyar,  an*  haul  me  out  dis  well !  What  fur 
you  go  'way  an'  leab  me  hyar?  '  De  fox  he  come  back, 
an'  he  look  down  de  well,  an'  he  say :  '-  Wot's  de  mat- 
ter, mule?  '  An'  de  heart  ob  de  mule  went  down  into 
his  hoofs  when  he  notus  he  done  lef  off  de  Cap'n.  '  I 
got  nuffin'  ter  do  wid  dat  well,  nur  wid  3-0U  nudder. 
Ef  you  wan'  ter  go  down  arfter  apple  toddy,  dat's  your 
look-out.  Good-mawnin'.'  An'  off  went  Mr.  Fox  to 
de  stoh'  po'ch  to  tell  the  folks  'bout  dat  fool  mule. 

*'  Now  that  par'ble  'minds  me  ob  you.  Uncle  'Lijah. 
You  didn't  hab  to  git  up  on  dis  seat,  an'  hoi'  dese 
reins,  an'  dribe  dese  bosses,  ef  3'ou  hadn't  wanted  ter. 
'Tain't  no  use  jawin'  me  fur  dat." 

"  Ef  I  wasn't  'feared  dese  bosses  ud  run  away." 
roared  Uncle  Elijah,  "  I'd  jus'  take  you  down  de  road 
and  give  you  sech  a-hidiu'  as  you  haven't  had  sence 
you  got  inter  breeches." 

With  Uncle  Elijah's  hands  so  fully  occupied  as 
they  were,  Montague  felt  safe  ;  and,  edging  as  near 
as  possible  to  his  end  of  the  seat,  he  exclaimed  : 

"But  dat  ain't  all  de  par'ble,  Uncle  'Lijah.  De 
fox  he  come  back  dat  ebenin',  an'  when  he  looked 
down  de  well,  dar  de  mule  yit,  sw'arin'  an'  cussin'  like 
all  out-doh's.  When  he  see  de  fox,  de  mule  he  'clar 
ter  gracious  dat  when  he  git  out  he  kick  dat  fox  inter 
little  bits  so  small  dat  they  could  sow  him  ober  de  fiel's 
from  a  wheat-seeder.  '  Look  h3'ar,'  said  de  fox,  '  you 
miu'  me  ob  de  par'ble  ob  de  man  what  los'  his  spring 


124  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

lamb.  Somebody  stole  that  lamb  wot  he  'spected  to 
get  foh'  dollars  fur  at  de  Co'at  House,  an'  de  man  he 
rar'd  an'  chawged,  an'  he  swore  dat  ef  he  kotch  dat 
t'ief  he'd  lick  him  wuss  dan  any  sheep-t'ief  was  eber 
licked  in  dat  county,  or  any  ob  de  j'ining  counties. 
He  hunted  high,  an'  he  hunted  low,  to  find  de  t'ief, 
an'  jus'  as  he  got  inside  de  woods  he  come  across  a 
great  big  b'ar  who  had  his  spring  lamb  a  hung  up 
a-barbecuin',  an'  he  was  a-nailin'  de  skin  up  ag'in'  a 
tree  fur  ter  dry.  De  man  was  orful  skeered  ;  but  de 
b'ar  he  sees  him,  an'  he  sings  out :  '  Hello  !  man,  now 
you  kotch  de  t'ief  wot  stole  yoxxr  spring  lamb,  why 
you  no  punch  he  head?  Why  you  no  break  he  back 
wid  dat  club  ?  Tell  me  dat,  you  big  man  ! '  An'  de 
b'ar  he  put  down  he  hammer  an'  he  nails  so's  ter  talk 
de  better.  De  man  he  too  skeered  to  speak  a  word, 
an'  he  kep'  squeezin'  back,  an'  squeezin'  back,  widout 
sayin'  nuffln'.  De  b'ar  he  come  nigher  an'  nigher,  an' 
he  sing  out :  '  Wot  fur  you  keep  your  mouf  shut  like 
a  can  o'  temahters  ?  Why  you  no  do  some  ob  dem  big 
t'ings  you  blow  'bout  jus'  now?  '  De  man  he  squeeze 
back,  an'  he  squeeze  back,  till  he  git  ter  de  edge  ob 
de  woods,  and  den  he  sing  out :  '  I  mube  dis  meetin' 
'journ  !     An'  he  more'n  'journed. 

*'Now,  Uncle  'Lijah,  I  don'  wan'  ter  make  no 
'flections  'gin'  you  in  dis  par'ble,  but  de  fox  he  did 
say  ter  de  mule  dat  'fore  he  blow  'bout  de  big  t'ings 
he  gwine  ter  do,  he  better  'mune  wid  his  own  soul, 
an'  see  ef  he  able.  Right  smart  fox  dat,  min'  you, 
Uncle  'Lijah." 

To  this  Uncle  Elijah  made  no  answer,  but  his  eyes 


thf:  cloverfields  carriage.  125 

sparkled,  and  his  big  hands  were  gripped  very  tightly 
on  the  whip  and  the  reins  that  he  held  ;  and  in  a 
minute  more  he  had  drawn  up  at  the  little  railroad 
station.  Montague  got  down,  and  went  to  inquire  if 
there  were  any  packages  of  goods  waiting  for  the 
Cloverfields  family,  while  Elijah  remained  in  his  seat. 
This  was  a  very  familiar  spot  to  the  old  negro.  In 
former  times  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  driving  here 
two  or  three  times  a  week,  and  as  he  sat  on  his  old 
seat  on  the  carriage,  with  the  same  old  reins  in  his 
hand,  and  the  two  black  horses  of  the  olden  time 
again  before  him,  and  the  familiar  scenes  all  about 
him,  Elijah  actually  forgot  for  the  time  being  that  he 
had  ever  resigned  his  ancient  post. 

''  Look  hyar,"  said  Montague,  presently  returning 
with  a  package  in  his  hands.  "  Hyar's  some  dry- 
goods  from  Richmon,'  an'  ef  we  hadn't  druv  down 
hyar,  I'd  been  sent  arfter  'em  ter-morrer  in  de  cart 
or  on  mule-back.  De  train's  comin'  in  ten  minutes  ; 
might  as  well  wait,  an'  see  ef  dar's  any  thin'  moh." 

Elijah  grumbled  a  little  at  waiting,  but  Montague, 
whose  soul  delighted  in  being  stirred,  even  by  so  small 
a  matter  as  the  arrival  of  a  railroad  train,  insisted 
that  it  would  be  unwise  to  go  away,  when  a  few 
minutes'  delay  might  save  a  lot  of  future  trouble. 
And  so  they  waited. 

Soon  there  was  heard  a  distant  whistle,  then  an 
approaching  rumble,  and  the  train  rolled  up  to  the 
station  and  stopped.  As  she  had  always  done.  Gamma 
tossed  her  head  and  looked  to  one  side,  while  Delta 
pricked    up   his   ears ;    but,  as  he  had  always   done, 


126  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

Uncle  Elijah  kept  a  firm  hand  upon  the  reins,  and 
spoke  to  his  horses  in  a  low,  quiet  tone,  which  had 
the  effect  of  making  them  understand  that  they  might 
safely  remain  where  they  were,  for  under  no  circum- 
stances would  the  train  come  their  way. 

Out  of  the  open  window  of  a  car  a  young  man  put 
his  head,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  narrow  plat- 
form, and  then  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  Cloverfields 
carriage,  standing  full  in  the  light  of  the  station  lamp. 
Drawing  in  his  head,  he  continued  to  look  steadily  at 
the  carriage,  and  then  he  arose  and  came  out  on  the 
car  platform.  One  of  the  good  comfortable  stops, 
not  unfrequent  on  the  roads  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try, was  taking  place,  and  the  conductor  had  gone  into 
the  station  to  send  a  telegram.  The  young  man  came 
down  to  the  bottom  step,  and  again  looked  up  and 
down.  Here  he  was  espied  by  Montague,  who  rushed 
up  and  accosted  him. 

"How  d'ye,  Mahs  Chawles?  Don'  you  'member 
me?  I'se  Montague  Braxton.  Use'  ter  men'  your 
boots." 

"  Isn't  that  Uncle  Elijah?  "  asked  the  young  man. 
"  And  who  is  the  carriage  waiting  for?  " 

"  Come  fur  you,  sah,"  said  the  mendacious  cobbler. 
"All  ready  waitin',  sah.  Gimme  your  checks,  Mahs 
Chawles,  an'  I'll  git  de  baggage." 

"  Come  for  me  !  "  repeated  the  3'oung  man.  "  How 
did  they  know  ?  ' ' 

"  Cawn't  tell  nufRn'  'bout  dat,  sah,  but  Miss  Jane 
she  sen'  me  an'  'Lijah  arfter  you  wid  de  kerridge. 
Better  hurry  up  with  de  checks,  sah." 


THE    CLOVERFIELDS    CARRIAGE.  127 

The  young  man  stood  upon  the  bottom  step  looking 
steadily  at  the  carriage,  and  paying  no  attention  to 
Montague's  last  remark.  Then  he  moved  his  eyes 
and  saw  the  conductor  coming  out  of  the  station.  He 
turned,  sprang  up  the  steps  and  into  the  car,  returning 
almost  instantly  with  a  valise  and  a  light  overcoat, 
which  were  immediately  taken  by  the  obsequious 
Montague. 

"Dat  all,  sah?"  said  he. 

The  young  man  nodded.  *'  All  aboard  !  "  cried  the 
conductor.    And  in  a  moment  the  train  had  moved  away. 

Montague  put  the  coat  and  valise  on  the  front  seat 
of  the  carriage,  and  stood  holding  open  the  door. 
"  Hyar  Mahs  Chawles,"  said  he  to  Elijah. 

The  old  man  turned  so  suddenly  as  to  startle  the 
horses.  "Mahs  Chawles!"  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes 
opening  like  a  pair  of  head-liglits. 

"How  d'ye.  Uncle  Elijah?"  said  the  young  man, 
extending  his  hand,  which  the  old  negro  took  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  dream. 

Montague  looked  a  little  anxiously  at  the  two. 
"Better  hurr}-  up,  sah,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  It's  gittiu'  late,  an'  Miss  Jane's  awful  skeery  'bout 
dribin'  at  night." 

At  this  the  young  man  entered  the  carriage,  Mon- 
tague shut  the  door  and  ran  around  to  his  seat,  and 
Uncle  Elijah,  his  mind  dazed  and  confused  by  this 
series  of  backward  slides  into  times  gone  by,  turned 
his  horses  and  drove  away.  For  ten  minutes  he  spoke 
not  a  word,  and  then  he  said  to  Montague  :  "  Did  you 
know  Mahs  Chawles  was  comin'  ?  " 


128  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

'*  Ob  course  I  did,"  said  the  cobbler.  "You  don' 
s'pose,  Uncle  'Lijah,  dat  I'd  fotch  you  all  de  way 
down  hyar  jus'  fur  a  little  bun'le  ob  cotton  cloth? 
Didn't  say  nufRn'  'bout  Mahs  Chawles,  cos  I  feared  he 
mightn't  come,  an'  j^ou'd  be  dis'p'inted,  an'  dem 
par'bles  was  jus'  ter  pahs  de  time,  Uncle  'Lijah  —  jus' 
ter  pahs  de  time." 

The  old  man  made  no  answer,  but  drove  steadily 
on,  and  the  moon  now  having  arisen,  he  was  able  to 
make  very  good  time.  Little  more  was  said  until  they 
had  nearly  reached  Uncle  Elijah's  cabin ;  then  Mon- 
tague asked  the  old  man  if  he  intended  driving  all 
the  way  to  Cloverfields. 

"Ob  course  I  do,"  was  the  gruff  reply.  "You 
don'  s'pose  I'd  trus'  you  wid  Mahs  Chawles  dis  time 
o'  night?" 

"Well,  den,"  said  the  other,  "I  reckin  I'll  git 
down  and  cut  acrost  de  fiel's  ter  my  cabin  ef  you'll 
be  'bligin'  enuf,  Uncle  'Lijah,  jes'  ter  put  up  de 
bosses  when  you  gits  dar,  an*  I'll  come  fus'  t'iug  in 
de  mawnin'  an'  'tend  to  eber3't'ing,  jus'  as  I  alius 
does." 

"  Go  'long,"  said  Elijah,  slackening  his  horses' 
pace.     "  I'se  got  no  use  fur  3'ou,  nohow." 

The  mistress  of  Cloverfields,  wdth  little  Miss  Jane 
and  Miss  Almira  Gay,  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  of  the 
old  mansion  very  much  disturbed.  In  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon  Montague  Braxton  had  been  told  to 
take  the  carriage  and  go  for  Miss  Polly  Brown,  the 
seamstress,  who  had  promised  to  give  a  week  of  her 
valuable   time   to  Cloverfields ;   but,   although  it  was 


THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE,  129 

now  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  he  had  not  re- 
turned. The  force  of  men-servants  at  Cloverfields  was 
very  small,  and  no  one  of  them  lived  at  the  house  ex- 
cepting a  very  old  man,  too  decrepit  to  send  out  to  look 
up  the  lost  cobbler  and  a  carriage  ;  and  "  Miss  Jane," 
who  was  still  a  vigorous  woman,  though  her  hair  was 
white,  with  her  daughter,  little  Miss  Jane,  and  her 
niece,  Miss  Almira  Gay,  had  almost  determined  that 
they  would  walk  over  to  a  cabin  about  half  a  mile 
distant,  and  get  a  colored  man  living  there  to  saddle 
a  mule  and  ride  to  Miss  Polly  Brown's  to  see  what 
had  happened,  when  their  deliberations  were  cut  short 
by  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels  on  the  drive.  The 
three  ladies  sprang  to  their  feet  and  hurried  out  to 
the  porch,  throwing  the  front  door  wide  open  that 
the  light  from  the  hall  lamp  might  illumine  the 
steps. 

"Why,  Miss  Polly!"  exclaimed  little  Miss  Jane, 

what  on  earth "  And  then  she  abruptly  stopped, 

ejaculating  in  a  low  tone  :  "  Uncle  Elijah  !  " 

At  these  words  her  mother  moved  quickly  forward 
to  the  edge  of  the  porch,  but  before  she  had  time 
to  say  anything  the  carriage-door  opened,  and  there 
stepped  out,  not  the  middle-aged  seamstress  who  was 
expected,  but  a  young  man,  on  whose  pale  and  up- 
turned face  the  light  of  the  hall  lamp  shone  full.  There 
was  a  cry  from  the  women,  a  sudden  bound  up  the 
steps,  and  in  an  instant  the  son  of  the  house  was  in 
his  mother's  arms,  with  his  sister  clasping  as  much  of 
his  neck  as  she  could  reach. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  this,  as  Master  Charles 


loO  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

sat  in  the  parlor,  his  mother  on  one  side  with  an  arm 
around  him,  his  sister  on  the  other  side  with  her  arm 
around  him,  while  his  right  hand  clasped  that  of  Miss 
Almira  Gay,  he  thus  explained  himself  :  "  I  hadn't  the 
least  idea  of  getting  off  the  train,  for  you  know  I  had 
vowed  never  to  come  here  till  there  was  an  end  of  that 
old  trouble  ;  but  I  thought  if  I  went  down  to  Danville 
in  the  late  train  we  probably  wouldn't  stop  at  our  sta- 
tion at  all,  and  that  I  wouldn't  notice  when  we  passed 
it.  But  we  did  stop,  and  I  couldn't  help  looking  out, 
and  when  I  saw  the  Cloverfields  carriage  standing 
there  just  as  natural  as  life,  and  old  Uncle  Elijah  in 
the  driver's  seat " 

''Uncle  Elijah!"  exclaimed  his  mother,  pushing 
back  her  chair.  "Did  he  go  down  to  the  station  to 
bring  me  my  son  ?  ' ' 

"  It  was  Elijah  !  "  cried  little  Miss  Jane.  "  I  saw 
him  on  the  seat." 

The  old  lady  arose  and  left  the  room.  She  stepped 
upon  the  porch  and  looked  out,  but  the  carriage  had 
gone.  Then  she  went  to  the  back  door,  hastily  lighted 
a  lantern  which  stood  on  the  table,  and  with  this  in 
her  hand  made  her  way  under  the  tall  oaks  and  along 
the  driveway  to  the  barn,  which  was  at  some  distance 
from  the  house.  Through  the  open  door  of  the  stables 
she  saw  dimly  the  form  of  a  man  engaged  in  rubbing 
down  a  horse.  Raising  the  lantern  in  her  hand,  she 
stepped  to  the  door  and  threw  the  light  within. 

"  Uncle  Elijah,"  she  said,  "  is  that  you?  " 

The  man  turned  around.  He  forgot  he  had  a  vote ; 
he  forgot  he  could  serve  on  a  jury.     He  simply  took 


THE    CLOVERFIELDS    CARRIAGE.  131 

off  his  hat,  and  coming  forward,  said:  "  Yaas,  Miss 
Jane,  dis  is  me." 

The  next  morning,  not  very  early,  the  cobbler 
approached  the  Cloverfields  stables  to  attend  to  the 
horses,  and  to  do  the  various  oddments  and  bitments 
of  work  for  which  he  had  been  temporarily  hired.  To 
his  surprise,  just  as  he  turned  a  corner  of  the  barn  he 
met  Uncle  Elijah,  who  was  engaged  in  attaching  a 
new  lash  to  the  carriage- whip.  Montague,  astounded, 
stood  for  a  moment  speechless,  gazing  at  Elijah,  who, 
in  some  way,  seemed  to  be  different  from  what  he  was 
the  day  before.  He  looked  taller  and  wider  ;  his  coun- 
tenance was  bright,  his  general  aspect  cheerful,  and 
an  element  of  Sunday  seemed  to  have  been  infused 
into  his  clothes. 

"  Didn't  spec'  to  see  you  hyar,  Uncle  'Lijah,"  stam- 
mered the  cobbler  when  he  found  his  voice. 

"  Reckin  not,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  I'se  glad  ter 
see  3'ou,  cos  I  wants  ter  tell  j^ou  a  par'ble.  Dar  was 
once  a  mud-turkle,  de  low-dowmest,  or'nerest,  no'count- 
est  mud-turkle  in  de  whole  worl'.  His  back  was  so 
cracked  dat  it  wouldn't  keep  de  rain  off  he  skin,  and 
he  bottom  shell  bin  ha'f  sole'  free  or  fob'  times  —  he 
so  lazy  he  ruther  scuffle  it  ober  de  rocks  dan  walk  — 
an'  de  chickens  had  eat  off  he  tail  afore  de  war,  cos 
he  too  triflin'  ter  pull  it  in.  Well,  dis  mis'ble  mud- 
turkle  come  'long  one  day,  an'  he  sees  a  Chris'mus 
tukkey  a-settin'  on  de  limb  ob  a  big  apple-tree.  De 
tukkey,  he  feel  fus'-rate,  an'  he  look  fus'-rate,  an'  he 
jyin  hese'f  up  dar  'mong  de  leabes  an'  de  apples.  An' 
de  mud-turkle  he  look  up,  an'  he  say :  '  Dat  mighty 


132  THE   CLOVERFIELDS   CARRIAGE. 

nice  up  dar !  Reckin  I'd  like  ter  set  up  dar  myse'f. 
Jus'  you  come  down,  Mahs  Chris'mus  tukkey,  an' 
lemme  set  up  dar  'mongst  de  apples  an'  de  leabes.' 
Den  de  Chris'mus  tukkey,  he  bristle  hese'f  up,  an'  he 
stick  out  he  feathers,  an'  he  spread  out  he  tail,  an'  his 
comb  an'  his  gills  git  redder  dan  fire,  an'  he  sing  out : 
'  Go  'long  wid  you,  j^ou  mud-turkle  ;  don'  lemme  heah 
you  say  no  moh  'bout  settin'  up  hyar.'  You  dunno 
how  to  dribe  a  boss ;  you  got  no  moh  sense  dan  ter 
chain  de  bin'  wheel  ob  a  kerridge,  gwine  down  Red 
Hill ;  you  lose  de  hoss-coUus ;  you  breaks  de  whip- 
lashes, and  gits  de  harness  all  upside  down  wrong ;  an' 
you  comes  ter  feed  de  bosses  arfter  dey's  bin  watered 
an'  turned  out  moh'n  two  hours.  P'raps  you  dunno 
who  I  is.  I'se  de  driber  ob  de  Cloverfields  kerridge, 
an'  as  long  as  I  has  de  use  ob  my  j'ints,  an'  can  see 
wid  my  eyes,  nobody  dribes  dat  kerridge  but  me.  An' 
now,  look  hyar,  you  shoemaker  mud-turkle,  when  me, 
an'  Miss  Jane,  an'  little  Miss  Jane,  an'  Miss  Almira 
Gay,  an'  p'r'aps  Mahs  Chawles,  gits  ter  de  Happy 
Lan',  don'  you  reckin  dat  you's  gwine  ter  come  dar 
too  cos  your  foolin'  helped  fotch  Mahs  Chawles  home. 
De  angel  Gabr'el,  he  p'int  his  horn  right  at  you  an' 
he  sing  out :  '  Ain't  got  no  use  fur  no  yaller  cobbler 
angels  hyar,  wid  dey  fool  par'bles,  an'  dey  lies  'bout 
bein'  sent  fur  Mahs  Chawles,  an'  dey  lettin'  Aun' 
M'riar  split  her  own  wood  an'  fotch  her  own  water 
from  de  spring.'  An'  now  you's  got  my  par'ble,  Mon- 
tague Braxton,  an'  de  nex'  time  you  comes  you  gits 
your  lickin'." 


THE  REMARKABLE  WRECK  OF  THE 
"THOMAS  HYKE." 


IT  was  half-past  one  by  the  clock  in  the  office  of  the 
Registrar  of  Woes.  The  room  was  empty,  for  it 
was  Wednesday,  and  the  Registrar  always  went  home 
early  on  Wednesday  afternoons.  He  had  made  that 
arrangement  when  he  accepted  the  office.  He  was 
willing  to  serve  his  fellow-citizens  in  any  suitable  posi- 
tion to  which  he  might  be  called,  but  he  had  private 
interests  which  could  not  be  neglected.  He  belonged 
to  his  country,  but  there  was  a  house  in  the  country 
which  belonged  to  him  ;  and  there  were  a  great  many 
things  appertaining  to  that  house  which  needed  atten- 
tion, especially  in  pleasant  summer  weather.  It  is  true 
he  was  often  absent  on  afternoons  which  did  not  fall  on 
the  Wednesday,  but  the  fact  of  his  having  appointed 
a  particular  time  for  the  furtherance  of  his  outside 
interests  so  emphasized  their  importance  that  his  asso- 
ciates in  the  office  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding 
that  affairs  of  such  moment  could  not  always  be 
attended  to  in  a  single  afternoon  of  the  week. 

But  although  the  large  room  devoted  to  the  especial 
use  of  the  Registrar  was  unoccupied,  there  were  other 

133 


134         THE   WRECK    OF   THE    ''THOMAS   HYKE:' 

rooms  connected  with  it  which  were  not  in  that  condi- 
tion. With  the  suite  of  offices  to  the  left  we  have 
nothing  to  do,  but  will  confine  our  attention  to  a  mod- 
erate-sized room  to  the  right  of  the  Registrar's  office, 
and  connected  by  a  door,  now  closed,  with  that  large 
and  handsomely  furnished  chamber.  This  was  the 
office  of  the  Clerk  of  Shipwrecks,  and  it  was  at  present 
occupied  by  five  persons.  One  of  these  was  the  clerk 
himself,  a  man  of  goodly  appearance,  somewhere  be- 
tween twenty-five  and  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  of 
a  demeanor  such  as  might  be  supposed  to  belong  to 
one  who  had  occupied  a  high  position  in  state  affairs, 
but  who,  by  the  cabals  of  his  enemies,  had  been  forced 
to  resign  the  great  operations  of  statesmanship  which 
he  had  been  directing,  and  who  now  stood,  with  a 
quite  resigned  air,  pointing  out  to  the  populace  the 
futile  and  disastrous  efforts  of  the  incompetent  one 
who  was  endeavoring  to  fill  his  place.  The  Clerk  of 
Shipwrecks  had  never  fallen  from  such  a  position, 
having  never  occupied  one,  but  he  had  acquired  the 
demeanor  referred  to  without  going  through  the  pre- 
liminary exercises. 

Another  occupant  was  a  very  young  man,  the  per- 
sonal clerk  of  the  Registrar  of  Woes,  who  always 
closed  all  the  doors  of  the  office  of  that  functionary  on 
Wednesday  afternoons,  and  at  other  times  when  out- 
side interests  demanded  his  principal's  absence,  after 
which  he  betook  himself  to  the  room  of  his  friend  the 
Shipwreck  Clerk. 

Then  there  was  a  middle-aged  man  named  Mathers, 
also  a  friend  of  the  clerk,  and  who  was  one  of  the 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:'        135 

eight  who  had  made  application  for  a  sub-position  in 
this  department,  which  was  now  filled  by  a  man  who 
was  expected  to  resign  when  a  friend  of  his,  a  gentle- 
man of  influence  in  an  interior  county,  should  succeed 
in  procuring  the  nomination  as  congressional  represen- 
tative of  his  district  of  an  influential  politician,  whose 
election  was  considered  assured  in  case  certain  ex- 
pected action  on  the  part  of  the  administration  should 
bring  his  party  into  power.  The  person  now  occupy- 
ing the  sub-position  hoped  then  to  get  something  better, 
and  Mathers,  consequently,  was  very  willing,  while 
waiting  for  the  place,  to  visit  the  offices  of  the  depart- 
ment and  acquaint  himself  with  its  duties. 

A  fourth  person  was  J.  George  Watts,  a  juryman 
by  profession,  who  had  brought  with  him  his  brother- 
in-law,  a  stranger  in  the  city. 

The  Shipwreck  Clerk  had  taken  off"  his  good  coat, 
which  he  had  worn  to  luncheon,  and  had  replaced  it 
by  a  lighter  garment  of  linen,  much  bespattered  with 
ink;  and  he  now  produced  a  cigar-box,  containing  six 
cigars. 

"  Gents,"  said  he,  "  here  is  the  fag  end  of  a  box  of 
cigars.  It's  not  like  having  the  pick  of  the  box,  but 
they  are  all  I  have  left." 

Mr.  Mathers,  J.  George  Watts,  and  the  brother-in- 
law  each  took  a  cigar  with  that  careless  yet  deferential 
manner  which  alwa3's  distinguishes  the  treatee  from 
the  treator  ;  and  then  the  box  was  protruded  in  an  off- 
hand way  toward  Harry  Covare,  the  personal  clerk  of 
the  Registrar;  but  this  young  man  declined,  saying 
that  he  preferred  cigarettes,  a  package  of  which  he 


136         THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

drew  from  his  pocket.  He  had  very  often  seen  that 
cigar-box  with  a  Havana  brand,  which  he  himself  had 
brought  from  the  other  room  after  the  Registrar  had 
emptied  it,  passed  around  with  six  cigars,  no  more  nor 
less,  and  he  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  the  Ship- 
wreck Clerk  did  not  expect  to  supply  him  with  smok- 
ing material.  If  that  gentleman  had  offered  to  the 
friends  who  generally  dropped  in  on  him  on  Wednes- 
day afternoon  the  paper  bag  of  cigars  sold  at  five 
cents  each  when  bought  singly,  but  half  a  dozen  for 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  they  would  have  been  quite  as 
thankfully  received  ;  but  it  better  pleased  his  depreca- 
tive soul  to  put  them  in  an  empty  cigar-box,  and  thus 
throw  around  them  the  halo  of  the  presumption  that 
ninety-four  of  their  imported  companions  had  been 
smoked. 

The  Shipwreck  Clerk,  having  lighted  a  cigar  for 
himself,  sat  down  in  his  revolving  chair,  turned  his 
back  to  his  desk,  and  threw  himself  into  an  easy  cross- 
legged  attitude,  which  showed  that  he  was  perfectly  at 
home  in  that  office.  Harry  Covare  mounted  a  high 
stool,  while  the  visitors  seated  themselves  in  three 
wooden  arm-chairs.  But  few  words  had  been  said, 
and  each  man  had  scarcely  tossed  his  first  tobacco 
ashes  on  the  floor  when  some  one  wearing  heavy  boots 
was  heard  opening  an  outside  door  and  entering  the 
Registrar's  room.  Harry  Covare  jumped  down  from 
his  stool,  laid  his  half -smoked  cigarette  thereon,  and 
bounced  into  the  next  room,  closing  the  door  after 
him.  In  about  a  minute  he  returned,  and  the  Ship- 
wreck Clerk  looked  at  him  inquirmgly. 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKEr        137 

"An  old  cock  in  a  pea-jacket,"  said  Mr.  Covare, 
taking  up  his  cigarette,  and  mounting  his  stool.  "I 
told  him  the  Registrar  would  be  here  in  the  morning. 
He  said  he  had  something  to  report  about  a  shipwreck  ; 
and  I  told  him  the  Registrar  would  be  here  in  the 
morning.  Had  to  tell  him  that  three  times,  and  then 
he  went." 

"  School  don't  keep  Wednesday  afternoons,"  said 
Mr.  J.  George  Watts,  with  a  knowing  smile. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  emphatically, 
changing  the  crossing  of  his  legs.  "A  man  can't 
keep  grinding  on  day  in  and  out  without  breaking 
down.  Outsiders  may  say  what  they  please  about  it, 
but  it  can't  be  done.  We've  got  to  let  up  sometimes. 
People  who  do  the  work  need  the  rest  just  as  much  as 
those  who  do  the  looking  on." 

"  And  more  too,  I  should  say,"  observed  Mr. 
Mathers. 

"Our  little  let-up  on  Wednesday  afternoons,"  mod- 
estly observed  Harry  Covare,  "  is  like  death  ;  it  is 
sure  to  come,  while  the  let-ups  we  get  other  days  are 
more  like  the  diseases  which  prevail  in  certain  areas ; 
you  can't  be  sure  whether  you're  going  to  get  them  or 
not." 

The  Shipwreck  Clerk  smiled  benignantly  at  this  re- 
mark, and  the  rest  laughed.  Mr.  Mathers  had  heard 
it  before,  but  he  would  not  impair  the  pleasantness 
of  his  relations  with  a  future  colleague  by  hinting  that 
he  remembered  it. 

"  He  gets  such  ideas  from  his  beastly  statistics," 
said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk. 


138         THE  WRECK   OF   THE    "  THOMAS  HYKE^ 

"Which  come  pretty  heavy  on  him  sometimes,  1 
expect,"  observed  Mr.  Mathers. 

"They  needn't,"  said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  "if 
things  were  managed  here  as  they  ought  to  be.  If 
John  J.  Laylor,"  meaning  thereby  the  Registrar,  "was 
the  right  kind  of  a  man,  you'd  see  things  very  differ- 
ent here  from  what  they  are  now.  There'd  be  a 
larger  force." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mr.  Mathers. 

"  And  not  only  that,  but  there'd  be  better  buildings, 
and  more  accommodations.  Were  any  of  you  ever  up 
to  Anster?  Well,  take  a  run  up  there  some  day,  and 
see  what  sort  of  buildings  the  department  has  there. 
William  Q.  Green  is  a  very  different  man  from  John 
J.  Laylor.  You  don't  see  him  sitting  in  his  chair  and 
picking  his  teeth  the  whole  winter,  while  the  represen- 
tative from  his  district  never  says  a  word  about  his 
department  from  one  end  of  a  session  of  Congress  to 
the  other.  Now  if  I  had  charge  of  things  here,  I'd 
make  such  changes  that  you  wouldn't  know  the  place. 
I'd  throw  two  rooms  off  here,  and  a  corridor  and  en- 
trance door  at  that  end  of  the  building.  I'd  close  up 
this  door,"  pointing  toward  the  Registrar's  room,  "  and 
if  John  J.  Laylor  wanted  to  come  in  here  he  might  go 
round  to  the  end  door  like  other  people." 

The  thought  struck  Harry  Covare  that  in  that  case 
there  would  be  no  John  J.  Laylor,  but  he  would  not 
interrupt. 

"And  what  is  more,"  continued  the  Shipwreck 
Clerk,  "  I'd  close  up  this  whole  department  at  twelve 
o'clock  on  Saturdays.     The  way  things  are  managed 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE^        139 

now,  a  man  has  no  time  to  attend  to  his  own  private 
business.  Suppose  I  think  of  buying  a  piece  of  land, 
and  want  to  go  out  and  look  at  it,  or  suppose  any 
one  of  you  gentlemen  were  here  and  thought  of  buying 
a  piece  of  land  and  wanted  to  go  out  and  look  at  it, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  You  don't  want 
to  go  on  Sunda}',  and  when  are  you  going  to  go?  " 

Not  one  of  the  other  gentlemen  had  ever  thought  of 
buying  a  piece  of  land,  nor  had  they  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  they  ever  would  purchase  an  inch  of  soil 
unless  they  bought  it  in  a  flower-pot ;  but  they  all 
agreed  that  the  way  things  were  managed  now  there 
was  no  time  for  a  man  to  attend  to  his  own  business. 

"  But  you  can't  expect  John  J.  La3'lor  to  do  any- 
thing," said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk. 

However,  there  was  one  thing  which  that  gentleman 
always  expected  John  J.  Laylor  to  do.  When  the 
clerk  was  surrounded  by  a  number  of  persons  in  hours 
of  business,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  impressing 
them  with  the  importance  of  his  functions,  and  the 
necessity  of  paying  deferential  attention  to  himself  if 
they  wished  their  business  attended  to,  John  J.  Laylor 
would  be  sure  to  walk  into  the  office  and  address  the 
Shipwreck  Clerk  in  such  a  manner  as  to  let  the  people 
present  know  that  he  was  a  clerk  and  nothing  else,  and 
that  he,  the  Registrar,  was  the  head  of  that  depart- 
ment. These  humiliations  the  Shipwreck  Clerk  never 
forgot. 

There  was  a  little  pause  here,  and  then  Mr.  Mathers 
remarked : 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  awfully  bored  with  the  long 


110        THE  WRECK   OF   THE   "THOMAS  HYKE:' 

stories  of  shipwrecks  that  the  people  come  and  tell 
you." 

He  hoped  to  change  the  conversation,  because, 
although  he  wished  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  the 
subordinate  officers,  it  was  not  desirable  that  he  should 
be  led  to  say  much  against  John  J.  Laylor. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  "I  am  not 
bored.  I  did  not  come  here  to  be  bored,  and  as  long 
as  I  have  charge  of  this  office  I  don't  intend  to  be. 
The  long-winded  old  salts  who  come  here  to  report 
their  wrecks  never  spin  out  their  prosy  yarns  to  me. 
The  first  thing  I  do  is  to  let  them  know  just  what  I 
want  of  them ;  and  not  an  inch  beyond  that  does  a 
man  of  them  go,  at  least  while  I  am  managing  the 
business.  There  are  times  when  John  J.  La3'lor  comes 
in,  and  puts  in  his  oar,  and  wants  to  hear  the  whole 
story,  which  is  pure  stuff  and  nonsense,  for  John  J. 
Laylor  doesn't  know  anything  more  about  a  shipwreck 
than  he  does  about " 

"  The  endemics  in  the  Lake  George  area,"  suggested 
Harry  Covare. 

"  Yes  ;  or  any  other  part  of  his  business,"  said  the 
Shipwreck  Clerk  ;  "  and  when  he  takes  it  into  his  head 
to  interfere,  all  business  stops  till  some  second  mate 
of  a  coal-schooner  has  told  his  whole  story,  from  his 
sighting  land  on  the  morning  of  one  day  to  his  getting 
ashore  on  it  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next.  —  Now  I 
don't  put  up  with  any  such  nonsense.  There's  no 
man  living  that  can  tell  me  anj^thing  about  shipwrecks. 
I've  never  been  to  sea  myself,  but  that's  not  neces- 
sary; and  if  I  had  gone,   it's   not  likely   I'd  been 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE    ''THOMAS   HYKEr        141 

wrecked.  But  I've  read  about  every  kind  of  ship- 
wreck that  ever  happened.  When  I  first  came  here  I 
took  care  to  post  myself  upon  these  matters,  because 
I  knew  it  would  save  trouble.  I  have  read  '  Robin- 
son Crusoe,'  'The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor,'  'The 
Sinking  of  the  Royal  George,'  and  wrecks  by  water- 
spouts, tidal  waves,  and  every  other  thing  which  would 
knock  a  ship  into  a  cocked  hat,  and  I've  classi- 
fied every  sort  of  wreck  under  its  proper  head ;  and 
when  I've  found  out  to  what  class  a  wreck  belongs, 
I  know  all  about  it.  Now,  when  a  man  comes  here 
to  report  a  wreck,  the  first  thing  he  has  to  do  is  just  to 
shut  down  on  his  story,  and  to  stand  up  square  and 
answer  a  few  questions  that  I  put  to  him.  In  two 
minutes  I  know  just  what  kind  of  shipwreck  he's 
had  ;  and  then,  when  he  gives  me  the  name  of  his 
vessel,  and  one  or  two  other  points,  he  may  go.  I 
know  all  about  that  wreck,  and  I  make  a  much  better 
report  of  the  business  than  he  could  have  done  if  he'd 
stood  here  talking  three  days  and  three  nights.  The 
amount  of  money  that's  been  saved  to  our  tax-payers 
by  the  way  I've  systematized  the  business  of  this  office 
is  not  to  be  calculated  in  figures." 

The  brother-in-law  of  J.  George  Watts  knocked  the 
ashes  from  the  remnant  of  his  cigar,  looked  contem- 
platively at  the  coal  for  a  moment,  and  then  re- 
marked : 

"  I  think  you  said  there's  no  kind  of  shipwreck 
you  don't  know  about?  " 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  replied  the  Shipwreck  Clerk. 

''I  think,"  said  the  other,  "I  could  tell  you  of  a 


142         THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

shipwreck,  in  which  I  was  concerned,  that  wouldn't  go 
into  any  of  your  classes." 

The  Shipwreck  Clerk  threw  away  the  end  of  his 
cigar,  put  both  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets, 
stretched  out  his  legs,  and  looked  steadfastly  at  the 
man  who  had  made  this  unwarrantable  remark.  Then 
a  pitying  smile  stole  over  his  countenance,  and  he  said  : 
"Well,  sir,  I'd  like  to  hear  your  account  of  it;  and 
before  you  get  a  quarter  through  I  can  stop  you  just 
where  you  are,  and  go  ahead  and  tell  the  rest  of  the 
story  myself." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Harry  Covare.  "  You'll  see  him 
do  it  just  as  sure  pop  as  a  spread  rail  bounces  the 
engine." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  brother-in-law  of  J.  George 
Watts,  "  I'll  tell  it."     And  he  began  : 

"  It  was  just  two  years  ago,  the  first  of  this  month, 
that  I  sailed  for  South  America  in  the  ''  Thomas 
Hyke." 

At  this  point  the  Shipwreck  Clerk  turned  and  opened 
a  large  book  at  the  letter  T. 

"  That  wreck  wasn't  reported  here,"  said  the  other, 
'*  and  you  won't  find  it  in  your  book." 

"At  Anster,  perhaps?  "  said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk, 
closing  the  volume,  and  turning  round  again. 

"  Can't  say  about  that,"  replied  the  other.  "  I've 
never  been  to  Anster,  and  haven't  looked  over  their 
books." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  want  to,"  said  the  clerk. 
"  They've  got  good  accommodations  at  Anster,  and 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:'        143 

the  Registrar  has  some  ideas  of  the  duties  of  his  post, 
but  they  have  no  such  system  of  wreck  reports  as  we 
have  here." 

"Very  hke,"  said  the  brother-in-law.  And  he  went 
on  with  his  story.  ' '  The  '  Thomas  Hyke  '  was  a  small 
iron  steamer  of  six  hundred  tons,  and  she  sailed  from 
Ulford  for  Valparaiso  with  a  cargo  principally  of  pig 
iron." 

"  Pig  iron  for  Valparaiso?  "  remarked  the  Shipwreck 
Clerk.  And  then  he  knitted  his  brows  thoughtfully, 
and  said,  "  Go  on." 

"  She  was  a  new  vessel,"  continued  the  narrator, 
"  and  built  with  water-tight  compartments  ;  rather  un- 
common for  a  vessel  of  her  class,  but  so  she  was.  I 
am  not  a  sailor,  aud  don't  know  an3'thing  about  ships. 
I  went  as  passenger,  and  there  was  another  one  named 
William  Anderson,  and  his  son  Sam,  a  boy  about  fif- 
teen years  old.  We  were  all  going  to  Valparaiso  on 
business.  I  don't  remember  just  how  many  days  we 
were  out,  nor  do  I  know  just  where  we  were,  but  it 
was  somewhere  off  the  coast  of  South  America,  when, 
one  dark  night,  with  a  fog  besides,  for  aught  I  know, 
for  I  was  asleep,  we  ran  into  a  steamer  coming  north. 
How  we  managed  to  do  this,  with  room  enough  on 
both  sides  for  all  the  ships  in  the  world  to  pass,  I 
don't  know  ;  but  so  it  was.  When  I  got  on  deck  the 
other  vessel  had  gone  on,  and  we  never  saw  anything 
more  of  her.  Whether  she  sunk  or  got  home  is  some- 
thing I  can't  tell.  But  we  pretty  soon  found  that  the 
'  Thomas  Hyke '  had  some  of  the  plates  in  her  bow 
badly  smashed,  and   she  took  in  water  like  a  thirsty 


144         THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

dog.  The  captain  had  the  forward  water-tight  bulk- 
head shut  tight,  and  the  pumps  set  to  work,  but  it  was 
no  use.  That  forward  compartment  just  filled  up  with 
water,  and  the  'Thomas  Hyke'  settled  down  with  her 
bow  clean  under.  Her  deck  was  slanting  forward  like 
the  side  of  a  hill,  and  the  propeller  was  lifted  up  so 
that  it  wouldn't  have  worked  even  if  the  engine  had 
been  kept  going.  The  captain  had  the  masts  cut  away, 
thinking  this  might  bring  her  up  some,  but  it  didn't 
help  much.  There  was  a  pretty  heavy  sea  on,  and 
the  waves  came  rolling  up  the  slant  of  the  deck  like  the 
surf  on  the  sea-shore.  The  captain  gave  orders  to 
have  all  the  hatches  battened  down  so  that  water 
couldn't  get  in,  and  the  only  way  by  which  anybody 
could  go  below  was  by  the  cabin  door,  which  was  far 
aft.  This  work  of  stopping  up  all  openings  in  the 
deck  was  a  dangerous  business,  for  the  decks  sloped 
right  down  into  the  water,  and  if  anybody  had  slipped, 
away  he'd  have  gone  into  the  ocean,  with  nothing  to 
stop  him  ;  but  the  men  made  a  line  fast  to  themselves, 
and  worked  away  with  a  good  will,  and  soon  got  the 
deck  and  the  house  over  the  engine  as  tight  as  a  bottle. 
The  smoke-stack,  which  was  well  forward,  had  been 
broken  down  by  a  spar  when  the  masts  had  been  cut, 
and  as  the  waves  washed  into  the  hole  that  it  left,  the 
captain  had  this  plugged  up  with  old  sails,  well  fast- 
ened down.  It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  see  the  ship 
a-lying  with  her  bows  clean  under  water,  and  her  stern 
sticking  up.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  water-tight 
compartments  that  were  left  uninjured,  she  would  have 
gone  down  to  the  bottom  as  slick  as  a  whistle.     On 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE    ''THOMAS   HYKE:'        145 

the  afternoon  of  the  day  after  the  collision  the  wind 
fell,  and  the  sea  soon  became  pretty  smooth.  The 
captain  was  quite  sure  that  there  would  be  no  trouble 
about  keeping  afloat  until  some  ship  came  along  and 
took  us  off.  Our  flag  was  flying,  upside  down,  from  a 
pole  in  the  stern  ;  and  if  anybody  saw  a  ship  making 
such  a  gu}^  of  herself  as  the  '  Thomas  Hyke  '  was  then 
doing,  they'd  be  sure  to  come  to  see  what  was  the 
matter  with  her,  even  if  she  had  no  flag  of  distress 
flying.  We  tried  to  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as 
we  could,  but  this  wasn't  easy  with  everything  on  such 
a  dreadful  slant.  But  that  night  we  heard  a  rumbling 
and  grinding  noise  down  in  the  hold,  and  the  slant 
seemed  to  get  worse.  Pretty  soon  the  captain  roused 
all  hands,  and  told  us  that  the  cargo  of  pig  iron  was 
shifting  and  sliding  down  to  the  bow,  and  that  it 
wouldn't  be  long  before  it  would  break  through  all  the 
bulkheads,  and  then  we'd  fill  and  go  to  the  bottom  like 
a  shot.  He  said  we  must  all  take  to  the  boats,  and  get 
away  as  quick  as  we  could.  It  was  an  easy  matter 
launching  the  boats.  They  didn't  lower  them  outside 
from  the  davits,  but  they  just  let  'em  down  on  deck 
and  slid  'em  along  forward  into  the  water,  and  then 
held  'em  there  with  a  rope  till  everything  was  ready  to 
start.  They  launched  three  boats,  put  plenty  of  pro- 
visions and  water  in  'em,  and  then  everybody  began  to 
get  aboard.  But  William  Anderson,  and  me,  and  his 
son  Sam,  couldn't  make  up  our  minds  to  get  into  those 
boats  and  row  out  on  the  dark,  wide  ocean.  They 
were  the  biggest  boats  we  had,  but  still  they  were  little 
things  enough.     The  ship  seemed  to  us  to  be  a  good 


146         THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

deal  safer,  and  more  likely  to  be  seen  when  day  broke, 
than  those  three  boats,  which  might  be  blown  off  if  the 
wind  rose,  nobody  knew  where.  It  seemed  to  us  that 
the  cargo  had  done  all  the  shifting  it  intended  to,  for 
the  noise  below  had  stopped ;  and,  altogether,  we 
agreed  that  we'd  rather  stick  to  the  ship  than  go  off  in 
those  boats.  The  captain,  he  tried  to  make  us  go,  but 
we  wouldn't  do  it ;  and  he  told  us  if  we  chose  to  stay 
behind  and  be  drowned  it  was  our  affair,  and  he 
couldn't  help  it ;  and  then  he  said  there  was  a  small 
boat  aft,  and  we'd  better  launch  her,  and  have  her 
ready  in  case  things  should  get  worse,  and  we  should 
make  up  our  minds  to  leave  the  vessel.  He  and  the 
rest  then  rowed  off  so  as  not  to  be  caught  in  the  vor- 
tex if  the  steamer  went  down,  and  we  three  stayed 
aboard.  We  launched  the  small  boat  in  the  way  we'd 
seen  the  others  launched,  being  careful  to  have  ropes 
tied  to  us  while  we  were  doing  it ;  and  we  put  things 
aboard  that  we  thought  we  should  want.  Then  we 
went  into  the  cabin,  and  waited  for  morning.  It  was 
a  queer  kind  of  a  cabin,  with  a  floor  inclined  like  the 
roof  of  a  house,  but  we  sat  down  in  the  corners,  and 
were  glad  to  be  there.  The  swinging  lamp  was  burn- 
ing, and  it  was  a  good  deal  more  cheerful  in  there  than 
it  was  outside.  But,  about  daybreak,  the  grinding  and 
rumbling  down  below  began  again,  and  the  bow  of  the 
'  Thomas  Hyke  '  kept  going  down  more  and  more  ;  and 
it  wasn't  long  before  the  forward  bulkhead  of  the 
cabin,  which  was  what  you  might  call  its  front  wall 
when  everything  was  all  right,  was  under  our  feet,  as 
level  as  a  floor,  and  the  lamp  was  lying  close  against 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS   HYKE^        147 

the  ceiling  that  it  was  hanging  from.  You  may  be 
sure  that  we  thought  it  was  time  to  get  out  of  that. 
There  were  benches  with  arms  to  them  fastened  to 
the  floor,  and  by  these  we  climbed  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
cabin  stairs,  which,  being  turned  bottom  upward,  we 
went  down  in  order  to  get  out.  When  we  reached  the 
cabin  door  we  saw  part  of  the  deck  below  us,  standing 
up  like  the  side  of  a  house  that  is  built  in  the  water, 
as  they  say  the  houses  in  Venice  are.  We  had  made 
our  boat  fast  to  the  cabin  door  by  a  long  line,  and  now 
we  saw  her  floating  quietly  on  the  water,  which  was 
very  smooth,  and  about  twenty  feet  below  us.  We 
drew  her  up  as  close  under  us  as  we  could,  and  then 
we  let  the  boy  Sam  down  by  a  rope,  and  after  some 
kicking  and  swinging  he  got  into  her ;  and  then  he 
took  the  oars,  and  kept  her  right  under  us  while  we 
scrambled  down  by  the  ropes  which  we  had  used  in 
getting  her  ready.  As  soon  as  we  were  in  the  boat  we 
cut  her  rope  and  pulled  away  as  hard  as  we  could  ;  and 
when  we  got  to  what  we  thought  was  a  safe  distance 
we  stopped  to  look  at  the  '  Thomas  Hyke.'  You  never 
saw  such  a  ship  in  all  your  born  days.  Two-thirds  of 
the  hull  was  sunk  in  the  water,  and  she  was  standing 
straight  up  and  down  with  the  stern  in  the  air,  her 
rudder  up  as  high  as  the  topsail  ought  to  be,  and  the 
screw  propeller  looking  like  the  wheel  on  the  top  of 
one  of  these  windmills  that  they  have  in  the  country 
for  pumping  up  water.  Her  cargo  had  shifted  so  far 
forward  that  it  had  turned  her  right  upon  end,  but  she 
couldn't  sink,  owing  to  the  air  in  the  compartments 
that  the  water  hadn't  got  into ;  and  on  the  top  of  the 


148         THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

whole  tiling  was  the  distress  flag  flyiug  from  the  pole 
which  stuck  out  over  the  stern.  It  was  broad  day- 
light, but  not  a  thing  did  we  see  of  the  other  boats. 
We'd  supposed  that  the}^  wouldn't  row  very  far,  but 
would  lay  off  at  a  safe  distance  until  daylight ;  but 
they  must  have  been  scared  and  rowed  farther  than 
they  intended.  Well,  sir,  we  staid  in  that  boat  all  day, 
and  watched  the  '  Thomas  Hyke ; '  but  she  just  kept 
as  she  was,  and  didn't  seem  to  sink  an  inch.  There 
was  no  use  of  rowing  away,  for  we  had  no  place  to 
row  to ;  and  besides,  we  thought  that  passing  ships 
would  be  much  more  likely  to  see  that  stern  sticking 
high  in  the  air  than  our  little  boat.  We  had  enough 
to  eat,  and  at  night  two  of  us  slept  while  the  other 
watched,  dividing  off  the  time,  and  taking  turns  to 
this.  In  the  morning  there  was  the  '  Thomas  Hyke  ' 
standing  stern  up  just  as  before.  There  was  a  long 
swell  on  the  ocean  now,  and  she'd  rise  and  lean  over  a 
little  on  each  wave,  but  she'd  come  up  again  just  as 
straight  as  before.  That  night  passed  as  the  last  one 
had,  and  in  the  morning  we  found  we'd  drifted  a  good 
deal  farther  from  the  '  Thomas  Hyke,'  but  she  was 
floating  just  as  she  had  been,  like  a  big  buoy  that's 
moored  over  a  sand-bar.  We  couldn't  see  a  sign  of 
the  boats,  and  we  about  gave  them  up.  We  had  our 
breakfast,  which  was  a  pretty  poor  meal,  being  nothing 
but  hard-tack  and  what  was  left  of  a  piece  of  boiled 
beef.  After  we'd  sat  for  a  while  doing  nothing,  but 
feeling  mighty  uncomfortable,  William  Anderson  said  : 
'  Look  here,  do  you  know  that  I  think  we  would  be 
three  fools  to  keep  on  shivering  all  night  and  living  on 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKEr        149 

hard-tack  in  the  day-time,  when  there's  pleut}'  on  that 
vessel  for  us  to  eat,  and  to  keep  us  warm.  If  she's 
floated  that  way  for  two  days  and  two  nights,  there's 
no  knowing  how  much  longer  she'll  float,  and  we  might 
as  well  go  on  board  and  get  the  things  we  want  as  not.' 
'  All  right,'  said  I,  for  I  was  tired  doing  nothing,  and 
Sam  was  as  willing  as  anybody.  So  we  rowed  up  to 
the  steamer,  and  stopped  close  to  the  deck,  which,  as 
I  said  before,  was  standing  straight  up  out  of  the 
water  like  the  wall  of  a  house.  The  cabin  door,  which 
was  the  only  opening  into  her,  was  about  twenty  feet 
above  us,  and  the  ropes  which  we  had  tied  to  the  rails 
of  the  stairs  inside  were  still  hanging  down.  Sam  was 
an  active  youngster,  and  he  managed  to  climb  up  one 
of  these  ropes ;  but  when  he  got  to  the  door  he  drew 
it  up  and  tied  knots  in  it  about  a  foot  apart,  and  then 
he  let  it  down  to  us,  for  neither  William  Anderson  nor 
me  could  go  up  a  rope  hand  over  hand  without  knots 
or  something  to  hold  on  to.  As  it  was,  we  had  a  lot 
of  bother  getting  up,  but  we  did  it  at  last,  and  then 
we  walked  up  the  stairs,  treading  on  the  front  part  of 
each  step  instead  of  the  top  of  it,  as  we  would  have 
done  if  the  stairs  had  been  in  their  proper  position. 
When  we  got  to  the  floor  of  the  cabin,  which  was  now 
perpendicular  like  a  wall,  we  had  to  clamber  down  by 
means  of  the  furniture,  which  was  screwed  fast,  until 
we  reached  the  bulkhead,  which  was  now  the  floor  of 
the  cabin.  Close  to  this  bulkhead  was  a  small  room 
which  was  the  steward's  pantry,  and  here  we  found 
lots  of  things  to  eat,  but  all  jumbled  up  in  a  way  that 
made   us   laugh.     The   boxes  of  biscuits  and  the  tin 


lf)0         THE  WRECK    OF   THE    ''THOMAS   HYKE:' 

cans,  and  a  lot  of  bottles  in  wicker  covers,  were  piled 
up  on  one  end  of  the  room,  and  everything  in  the 
lockers  and  drawers  was  jumbled  together.  William 
Anderson  and  me  set  to  work  to  get  out  what  we 
thought  we'd  want,  and  we  told  Sam  to  climb  up  into 
some  of  the  state-rooms,  of  which  there  were  four  on 
each  side  of  the  cabin,  and  get  some  blankets  to  keep 
us  warm,  as  well  as  a  few  sheets,  which  we  thought 
we  could  rig  up  for  an  awning  to  the  boat ;  for  the 
days  were  just  as  hot  as  the  nights  were  cool.  When 
we'd  collected  what  we  wanted,  William  Anderson  and 
me  climbed  into  our  own  rooms,  thinking  we'd  each 
pack  a  valise  with  what  we  most  wanted  to  save  of  our 
clothes  and  things  ;  and  while  we  were  doing  this,  Sam 
called  out  to  us  that  it  was  raining.  He  was  sitting 
at  the  cabin  door  looking  out.  I  first  thought  to  tell 
him  to  shut  the  door  so's  to  keep  the  rain  from  coming 
in ;  but  when  I  thought  how  things  really  were,  I 
laughed  at  the  idea.  There  was  a  sort  of  little  house 
built  over  the  entrance  to  the  cabin,  and  in  one  end  of 
it  was  the  door ;  and  in  the  way  the  ship  now  was  the 
open  doorway  was  underneath  the  little  house,  and  of 
course  no  rain  could  come  in.  Pretty  soon  we  heard 
the  rain  pouring  down,  beating  on  the  stern  of  the 
vessel  like  hail.  We  got  to  the  stairs  and  looked  out. 
The  rain  was  falling  in  perfect  sheets,  in  a  way  you 
never  see  except  round  about  the  tropics.  'It's  a 
good  thing  we're  inside,'  said  William  Anderson,  'for 
if  we'd  been  out  in  this  rain  we'd  been  drowned  jn  the 
boat.'  I  agreed  with  him,  and  we  made  up  our  minds 
to  stay  where  we  were  until  the  rain  was  over.     Well, 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE^        151 

it  rained  about  four  hours ;  and  when  it  stopped,  and 
we  looked  out,  we  saw  our  little  boat  nearly  full  of 
water,  and  sunk  so  deep  that  if  one  of  us  had  stepped 
on  her  she'd  have  gone  down,  sure.  '  Here's  a  pretty 
kittle  of  fish,'  said  William  Anderson  ;  '  there's  noth- 
ing for  us  to  do  now  but  to  stay  where  we  are.'  I 
believe  in  his  heart  he  was  glad  of  that,  for  if  ever  a 
man  was  tired  of  a  little  boat,  William  Anderson  was 
tired  of  that  one  we'd  been  in  for  two  days  and  two 
nights.  At  any  rate  there  was  no  use  talking  about 
it,  and  we  set  to  work  to  make  ourselves  comfortable. 
We  got  some  mattresses  and  pillows  out  of  the  state- 
rooms, and  when  it  began  to  get  dark  we  lighted  the 
lamp,  which  we  had  filled  with  sweet-oil  from  a  flask 
in  the  pantry,  not  finding  any  other  kind,  and  we  hung 
it  from  the  railing  of  the  stairs.  We  had  a  good  night's 
rest,  and  the  only  thing  that  disturbed  me  was  William 
Anderson  lifting  up  his  head  every  time  he  turned  over, 
and  saying  how  much  better  this  was  than  that  blasted 
little  boat.  The  next  morning  we  had  a  good  break- 
fast, even  making  some  tea  with  a  spirit  lamp  we 
found,  using  brandy  instead  of  alcohol.  William 
Anderson  and  I  wanted  to  get  into  the  captain's  room, 
which  was  near  the  stern,  and  pretty  high  up,  so  as  to 
see  if  there  was  anything  there  that  we  ought  to  get 
ready  to  save  when  a  vessel  should  come  along  and 
pick  us  up ;  but  we  were  not  good  at  climbing,  like 
Sam,  and  we  didn't  see  how  we  could  get  up  there. 
Sam  said  he  was  sure  he  had  once  seen  a  ladder  in  the 
compartment  just  forward  of  the  bulkhead,  and  as 
William  was  very  anxious  to  get  up  to  the  captain's 


152        THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYRE:' 

room,  we  let  the  boy  go  and  look  for  it.  There  was  a 
sliding  door  in  the  bulkhead  under  our  feet,  and  we 
opened  this  far  enough  to  let  Sam  get  through ;  and 
he  scrambled  down  like  a  monkey  into  the  next  com- 
partment, which  was  light  enough,  although  the  lower 
half  of  it,  which  was  next  to  the  engine-room,  was 
under  the  water-line.  Sam  actually  found  a  ladder 
with  hooks  at  one  end  of  it,  and  while  he  was  handing 
it  up  to  us,  which  was  very  hard  to  do,  for  he  had  to 
climb  up  on  all  sorts  of  things,  he  let  it  topple  over, 
and  the  end  with  the  iron  hooks  fell  against  the  round 
glass  of  one  of  the  port-holes.  The  glass  was  very 
thick  and  strong,  but  the  ladder  came  down  very  heavy 
and  shivered  it.  As  bad  luck  would  have  it,  this  win- 
dow was  below  the  water-line,  and  the  water  came 
rushing  in  in  a  big  spout.  We  chucked  blankets  down 
to  Sam  for  him  to  stop  up  the  hole,  but  'twas  of  no 
use  ;  for  it  was  hard  for  him  to  get  at  the  window,  and 
when  he  did  the  water  came  in  with  such  force  that  he 
couldn't  get  a  blanket  into  the  hole.  We  were  afraid 
he'd  be  drowned  down  there,  and  told  him  to  come  out 
as  quick  as  he  could.  He  put  up  the  ladder  again, 
and  hooked  it  on  to  the  door  in  the  bulkhead,  and  we 
held  it  while  he  climbed  up.  Looking  down  through 
the  doorway,  we  saw,  by  the  way  the  water  was  pour- 
ing in  at  the  opening,  that  it  wouldn't  be  long  before 
that  compartment  was  filled  up  ;  so  we  shoved  the  door 
to  and  made  it  all  tight,  and  then  said  William  Ander- 
son :  '  The  ship'll  sink  deeper  and  deeper  as  that  fills 
up,  and  the  water  may  get  up  to  the  cabin  door,  and 
we  must  go  and  make  that  as  tight  as  we  can.  *     Sam 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE^        153 

had  pulled  the  ladder  up  after  him,  and  this  we  found 
of  great  use  in  getting  to  the  foot  of  the  cabin  stairs. 
We  shut  the  cabin  door,  and  locked  and  bolted  it ;  and 
as  it  fitted  pretty  tight,  we  didn't  think  it  would  let  in 
much  water  if  the  ship  sunk  that  far.  But  over  the 
top  of  the  cabin  stairs  were  a  couple  of  folding  doors, 
which  shut  down  horizontally  when  the  ship  was  in  its 
proper  position,  and  which  were  only  used  in  very  bad, 
cold  weather.  These  we  pulled  to  and  fastened  tight, 
thus  having  a  double  protection  against  the  water. 
Well,  we  didn't  get  this  done  any  too  soon,  for  the 
water  did  come  up  to  the  cabin  door,  and  a  little  tric- 
kled in  from  the  outside  door,  and  through  the  cracks 
in  the  inner  one.  But  we  went  to  work  and  stopped 
these  up  with  strips  from  the  sheets,  which  we  crammed 
well  in  with  our  pocket  knives.  Then  we  sat  down  on 
the  steps,  and  waited  to  see  what  would  happen  next. 
The  doors  of  all  the  state-rooms  were  open,  and  we 
could  see  through  the  thick  plate-glass  windows  in 
them,  which  were  all  shut  tight,  that  the  ship  was  sink- 
ing more  and  more  as  the  water  came  in.  Sam  climbed 
up  into  one  of  the  after  state-rooms,  and  said  the  out- 
side water  was  nearly  up  to  the  stern  ;  and  prett}'  soon 
we  looked  up  to  the  two  port-holes  in  the  stern,  and 
saw  that  they  were  covered  with  water ;  and  as  more 
and  more  water  could  be  seen  there,  and  as  the  light 
came  through  less  easily,  we  knew  that  we  were  sink- 
ing under  the  surface  of  the  ocean.  '  It's  a  mighty 
good  thing,'  said  William  Anderson,  '  that  no  water  can 
get  in  here.'  William  had  a  hopeful  kind  of  mind, 
and  always  looked  on  the  bright  side  of  things  ;  but  I 


154        THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS   HYKE."* 

must  say  that  I  was  dreadfully  scared  when  I  looked 
through  those  stern  windows  and  saw  water  instead  of 
sky.  It  began  to  get  duskier  and  duskier  as  we  sank 
lower  and  lower,  but  still  we  could  see  pretty  well,  for 
it's  astonishing  how  much  light  comes  down  through 
water.  After  a  little  while  we  noticed  that  the  light 
remained  about  the  same  ;  and  then  William  Anderson 
he  sings  out :  '  Hooray,  we've  stopped  sinking ! ' 
'  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  '  says  I.  '  We  must 
be  thirty  or  forty  feet  under  water,  and  more  yet  for 
aught  I  know.'  '  Yes,  that  may  be,'  said  he  ;  '  but  it 
is  clear  that  all  the  water  has  got  into  that  compart- 
ment that  can  get  in,  and  we  have  sunk  just  as  far 
down  as  we  are  going.'  '  But  that  don't  help  matters,' 
said  I ;  '  thirty  or  forty  feet  under  water  is  just  as  bad 
as  a  thousand  as  to  drowning  a  man.'  '  Drowning!  ' 
said  William ;  '  how  are  you  going  to  be  drowned  ? 
No  water  can  get  in  here.'  '  Nor  no  air,  either,'  said 
I ;  '  and  people  are  drowned  for  want  of  air,  as  I  take 
it.'  '  It  would  be  a  queer  sort  of  thing,'  said  William, 
'  to  be  drowned  in  the  ocean  and  yet  stay  as  dry  as  a 
chip.  But  it's  no  use  being  worried  about  air.  We've 
got  air  enough  here  to  last  us  for  ever  so  long.  This 
stern  compartment  is  the  biggest  in  the  ship,  and  it's 
got  lots  of  air  in  it.  Just  think  of  that  hold  !  It  must 
be  nearly  full  of  air.  The  stern  compartment  of  the 
hold  has  got  nothing  in  it  but  sewing-machines.  I  saw 
'em  loading  her.  The  pig-iron  was  mostly  amidships, 
or  at  least  forward  of  this  compartment.  Now,  there's 
no  kind  of  a  cargo  that'll  accommodate  as  much  air  as 
sewing-machines.     They're  packed  in  wooden  frames. 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   "THOMAS  HYKE:'        155 

fill  up  half  the  room  they  take. 
There's  ah-  all  through  and  around  'em.  It's  a  very 
comforting  thing  to  think  the  hold  isn't  filled  up  solid 
with  bales  of  cotton  or  wheat  in  bulk.'  It  might  be 
comforting,  but  I  couldn't  get  much  good  out  of  it. 
And  now  Sam,  who'd  been  scrambling  all  over  the 
cabin  to  see  how  things  were  going  on,  sung  out  that 
the  water  was  leaking  in  a  little  again  at  the  cabin 
door,  and  around  some  of  the  iron  frames  of  the  win- 
dows. '  It's  a  lucky  thing,'  said  William  Anderson, 
'  that  we  didn't  sink  any  deeper,  or  the  pressure  of  the 
water  would  have  burst  in  those  heavy  glasses.  And 
what  we've  got  to  do  now  is  to  stop  up  all  the  cracks. 
The  more  we  work,  the  livelier  we'll  feel.'  We  tore 
off  more  strips  of  sheets  and  went  all  round,  stopping 
up  cracks  wherever  we  found  them.  '  It's  fortunate,' 
said  William  Anderson,  '  that  Sam  found  that  ladder, 
for  we  would  have  had  hard  work  getting  to  the  win- 
dows of  the  stern  state-rooms  without  it ;  but  by  rest- 
ing it  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  stairs,  which  now  hap- 
pens to  be  the  top  one,  we  can  get  to  any  part  of  the 
cabin.'  I  couldn't  help  thinking  that  if  Sam  hadn't 
found  the  ladder  it  would  have  been  a  good  deal  better 
for  us ;  but  I  didn't  want  to  damp  William's  spirits, 
and  I  said  nothing. 

"  And  now  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  nar- 
rator, addressing  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  "but  I  forgot 
that  you  said  you'd  finish  this  story  yourself.  Perhaps 
you'd  like  to  take  it  up  just  here?  " 

The  Shipwreck  Clerk  seemed  surprised,  and  had, 
apparently,  forgotten  his  previous  offer.     "Oh,  no," 


156         THE   WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE:' 

said  he,  "  tell  your  own  stoiy.     This  is  not  a  matter  of 
business." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  brother-in-law  of  J. 
George  Watts,  "  I'll  go  on.  We  made  everything  as 
tight  as  we  could,  and  then  we  got  our  supper,  having 
forgotten  all  about  dinner,  and  being  very  hungry. 
We  didn't  make  any  tea,  and  we  didn't  light  the  lamp, 
for  we  knew  that  would  use  up  air ;  but  we  made  a 
better  meal  than  three  people  sunk  out  of  sight  in  the 
ocean  had  a  right  to  expect.  '  What  troubles  me 
most,'  said  William  Anderson,  as  he  turned  in,  'is 
the  fact  that  if  we  are  forty  feet  under  water,  our  flag- 
pole must  be  covered  up.  Now,  if  the  flag  was  stick- 
ing out,  upside  down,  a  ship  sailing  by  would  see  it 
and  would  know  there  was  something  wrong.*  *  If 
that's  all  that  troubles  you,'  said  I,  'I  guess  3'ou'll 
sleep  easy.  And  if  a  ship  was  to  see  the  flag,  I  won- 
der how  they'd  know  we  were  down  here,  and  how 
they'd  get  us  out  if  they  did !  '  'Oh,  they'd  manage 
it,*  said  William  Anderson  ;  '  Trust  those  sea-captains 
for  that.'  And  then  he  went  to  sleep.  The  next  morn- 
ing the  air  began  to  get  mighty  disagreeable  in  the  part 
of  the  cabin  where  we  were,  and  then  William  Ander- 
son he  says  :  '  What  we've  got  to  do  is  to  climb  up  into 
the  stern  state-rooms,  where  the  air  is  purer.  We  can 
come  down  here  to  get  our  meals,  and  then  go  up 
again  to  breathe  comfortable.'  'And  what  are  we 
going  to  do  when  the  air  up  there  gets  foul  ? '  says  I  to 
William,  who  seemed  to  be  making  arrangements  for 
spending  the  summer  in  our  present  quarters.  'Oh, 
that'll  be  all  right,'  said  he.     '  It  don't  do  to  be  ex- 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS   HYKEr        157 

li'avagant  with  air  any  more  than  with  anything  else. 
When  we've  used  up  all  there  is  in  this  cabin,  we  can 
bore  holes  through  the  floor  into  the  hold  and  let  in  air 
from  there.  If  we're  economical,  there'll  be  enough 
to  last  for  dear  knows  how  long.'  We  passed  the 
night  each  in  a  state-room,  sleeping  on  the  end  wall 
instead  of  the  berth,  and  it  wasn't  till  the  afternoon  of 
the  next  day  that  the  air  of  the  cabin  got  so  bad  we 
thought  we'd  have  some  fresh ;  so  we  went  down  on 
the  bulkhead,  and  with  an  auger  that  we  found  in  the 
pantry  we  bored  three  holes,  about  a  yard  apart,  in 
the  cabin  floor,  which  was  now  one  of  the  walls  of  the 
room,  just  as  the  bulkhead  was  the  floor,  and  the  stern 
end,  where  the  two  round  windows  were,  was  the  ceil- 
ing or  roof.  We  each  took  a  hole,  and  I  tell  you  it 
was  pleasant  to  breathe  the  air  which  came  in  from 
the  hold.  '  Isn't  this  jolly?  '  said  William  Anderson. 
'  And  we  ought  to  be  mighty  glad  that  that  hold  wasn't 
loaded  with  codfish  or  soap.  But  there's  nothing  that 
smells  better  than  new  sewing-machines  that  haven't 
ever  been  used,  and  this  air  is  pleasant  enough  for 
anybody.'  By  William's  advice  we  made  three  plugs, 
by  which  we  stopped  up  the  holes  when  we  thought 
we'd  had  air  enough  for  the  present.  'And  now,' 
says  he,  '  we  needn't  climb  up  into  those  awkward 
state-rooms  any  more.  We  can  just  stay  down  here 
and  be  comfortable,  and  let  in  air  when  we  want  it.' 
*  And  how  long  do  you  suppose  that  air  in  the  hold  is 
going  to  last?'  said  I.  'Oh,  ever  so  long,'  said  he, 
using  it  so  economically  as  we  do ;  and  when  it  stops 
coming  out  lively  through  these  little  holes,  as  I  sup- 


158         THE   WRECK  OF   THE   "  THOMAS  HYKE^ 

pose  it  will  after  a  while,  we  can  saw  a  big  hole  in  this 
flooring  and  go  into  the  hold,  and  do  our  breathing,  if 
we  want  to.'  That  evening  we  did  saw  a  hole  about  a 
foot  square,  so  as  to  have  plenty  of  air  while  we  were 
asleep,  but  we  didn't  go  into  the  hold,  it  being  pretty 
well  filled  up  with  machines ;  though  the  next  day  Sam 
and  I  sometimes  stuck  our  heads  in  for  a  good  sniff  of 
air,  though  William  Anderson  was  opposed  to  this, 
being  of  the  opinion  that  we  ought  to  put  ourselves  on 
short  rations  of  breathing  so  as  to  make  the  supplj'  of 
air  hold  out  as  long  as  possible.  '  But  what's  the 
good,'  said  I  to  William,  'of  trying  to  make  the  air 
hold  out  if  we've  got  to  be  suffocated  in  this  place 
after  all?  '  '  What's  the  good?  '  says  he.  '  Haven't 
you  enough  biscuits,  and  canned  meats,  and  plent}'  of 
other  things  to  eat,  and  a  baiTel  of  water  in  that  room 
opposite  the  pantry,  not  to  speak  of  wine  and  brandy 
if  you  want  to  cheer  yourself  up  a  bit,  and  haven't  we 
good  mattresses  to  sleep  on,  and  why  shouldn't  we  try 
to  live  and  be  comfortable  as  long  as  we  can  ?  '  '  What 
I  want,'  said  I,  'is  to  get  out  of  this  box.  The  idea 
of  being  shut  up  in  here  down  under  the  water  is  more 
than  I  can  stand.  I'd  rather  take  my  chances  going 
up  to  the  surface  and  swimming  about  till  I  found  a 
piece  of  the  wreck,  or  something  to  float  on.'  'You 
needn't  think  of  anything  of  that  sort,'  said  William, 
'  for  if  we  were  to  open  a  door  or  a  window  to  get  out, 
the  water'd  rush  in  and  drive  us  back  and  fill  up  this 
place  in  no  time  ;  and  then  the  whole  concern  would  go 
to  the  bottom.  And  what  would  you  do  if  you  did  get 
to  the  top  of  the  water?     It's  not  likely  you'd  find  any- 


THE  WRECK  OF   THE   ''THOMAS   HYKE:'        150 

thing  there  to  get  on,  and  if  you  did  you  wouldn't  live 
very  long  floating  about  with  nothing  to  eat.  No,  sir,' 
says  he,  '  what  we've  got  to  do  is  to  be  content  with 
the  comforts  we  have  around  us,  and  something  will 
turn  up  to  get  us  out  of  this;  you  see  if  it  don't.' 
There  was  no  use  talking  against  William  Anderson, 
and  I  didn't  say  any  more  about  getting  out.  As  for 
Sam,  he  spent  his  time  at  the  windows  of  the  state- 
rooms a-looking  out.  We  could  see  a  good  way  into 
the  water,  further  than  you  would  think,  and  we  some- 
times saw  fishes,  especially  porpoises,  swimming  about, 
most  likely  trying  to  find  out  what  a  ship  was  doing 
hanging  bows  down  under  the  water.  What  troubled 
Sam  was  that  a  sword-fish  might  come  along  and  jab 
his  sword  through  one  of  the  windows.  In  that  case 
it  would  be  all  up,  or  rather  down,  with  us.  Every 
now  and  then  he'd  sing  out,  '  Here  comes  one  ! '  And 
then,  just  as  I'd  give  a  jump,  he'd  say,  '  No,  it  isn't ; 
it's  a  porpoise.'  I  thought  from  the  first,  and  I  think 
now,  that  it  would  have  been  a  great  deal  better  for  us 
if  that  boy  hadn't  been  along.  That  night  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  motion  to  the  ship,  and  she  swung  about 
and  rose  up  and  down  more  than  she  had  done  since 
we'd  been  left  in  her.  '  There  must  be  a  big  sea  run- 
ning on  top,'  said  William  Anderson,  '  and  if  we  were 
up  there  we'd  be  tossed  about  dreadful.  Now  the 
motion  down  here  is  just  as  easy  as  a  cradle,  and, 
what's  more,  we  can't  be  sunk  very  deep  ;  for  if  we 
were,  there  wouldn't  be  any  motion  at  all.'  About 
noon  the  next  day  we  felt  a  sudden  tremble  and  shake 
run  through  the  whole  sliip,  and  far  down  under  us  we 


160    THE  WRECK   OF  THE   ''THOMAS  HYKEr 

heard  a  rumbling  and  grinding  that  nearly  scared  me 
out  of  my  wits.  I  first  thought  we'd  struck  bottom, 
but  William  he  said  that  couldn't  be,  for  it  was  just  as 
light  in  the  cabin  as  it  had  been,  and  if  we'd  gone 
down  it  would  have  grown  much  darker,  of  course. 
The  rumbling  stopped  after  a  little  while,  and  then  it 
seemed  to  grow  lighter  instead  of  darker ;  and  Sam, 
who  was  looking  up  at  the  stern  windows  over  our 
heads,  he  sung  out,  '  Sky !  *  And,  sure  enough,  we 
could  see  the  blue  sky,  as  clear  as  daylight,  through 
those  windows  !  And  then  the  ship,  she  turned  herself 
on  the  slant,  pretty  much  as  she  had  been  when  her 
forward  compartment  first  took  in  water,  and  we  found 
ourselves  standing  on  the  cabin  floor  instead  of  the 
bulkhead.  I  was  near  one  of  the  open  state-rooms, 
and  as  I  looked  in  there  was  the  sunlight  coming 
through  the  wet  glass  in  the  window,  and  more  cheer- 
ful than  anything  I  ever  saw  before  in  this  world.  Wil- 
liam Anderson  he  just  made  one  jump,  and,  unscrewing 
one  of  the  state-room  windows,  he  jerked  it  open.  We 
had  thought  the  air  inside  was  good  enough  to  last 
some  time  longer ;  but  when  that  window  was  open  and 
the  fresh  air  came  rushing  in,  it  was  a  different  sort 
of  thing,  I  can  tell  you.  William  put  his  head  out  and 
looked  up  and  down  and  all  around.  '  She's  nearly 
all  out  of  water ! '  he  shouted,  '  and  we  can  open  the 
cabin  door.'  Then  we  all  three  rushed  at  those  stairs, 
which  were  nearly  right  side  up  now,  and  we  had  the 
cabin  doors  open  in  no  time.  When  we  looked  out 
we  saw  that  the  ship  was  truly  floating  pretty  much  as 
she   had  been  when  the   captain  and   crew  left  her, 


THE  WRECK   OF   THE   ''THOMAS  HYKE."        161 

though  we  all  agreed  that  her  deck  didn't  slant  as 
much  forward  as  it  did  then.  '  Do  you  know  what's 
happened?'  sung  out  William  Anderson,  after  he'd 
stood  still  for  a  minute  to  look  around  and  think. 
'  That  bobbing  up  and  down  that  the  vessel  got  last 
night  shook  up  and  settled  down  the  pig-iron  inside  of 
her,  and  the  iron  plates  in  the  bow,  that  were  smashed 
and  loosened  by  the  collision,  have  given  way  under 
the  weight,  and  the  whole  cargo  of  pig-iron  has  burst 
through  and  gone  to  the  bottom.  Then,  of  course,  up 
we  came.  Didn't  I  tell  you  something  would  happen 
to  make  us  all  right?' 

*'  Well,  I  won't  make  this  story  any  longer  than  I 
can  help.  The  next  day  after  that  we  were  taken  off 
by  a  sugar-ship  bound  north,  and  we  were  carried  safe 
back  to  Ulford,  where  we  found  our  captain  and  the 
crew,  who  had  been  picked  up  by  a  ship  after  they'd 
been  three  or  four  days  in  their  boats.  This  ship  had 
sailed  our  way  to  find  us,  which,  of  course,  she  couldn't 
do,  as  at  that  time  we  were  under  water  and  out  of 
sight. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  the  brother-in-law  of  J.  George 
Watts  to  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  "to  which  of  your 
classes  does  this  wreck  of  mine  belong?  " 

"  Gents,"  said  the  Shipwreck  Clerk,  rising  from  his 
seat,  ''it's  four  o'clock,  and  at  that  hour  this  office 
closes." 


MY  BULL-CALF. 


I  AM  an  animal  painter,  and  although  I  am  not  well 
known  to  fame,  I  have  painted  a  good  many  pic- 
tures, most  of  which  may  now  be  seen  on  the  walls  of 
my  studio.  In  justice  to  myself  I  must  say  that  the 
critics  of  the  art  exhibitions  and  those  persons  compe- 
tent to  judge  who  have  visited  my  studio  have  spoken 
in  praise  of  my  pictures,  and  have  given  me  a  good 
place  among  the  younger  artists  of  the  country  ;  some- 
times, indeed,  they  have  said  things  about  the  suggested 
sentiment  of  some  of  my  work  which  I  am  too  modest 
here  to  repeat.  But  in  spite  of  this  commendation, 
which  I  labor  hard  to  deserve,  there  has  been  no  great 
demand  for  my  paintings. 

A  facetious  brother  artist  once  attempted  to  explain 
the  slowness  of  my  sales.  ''  You  see,"  said  he,  "that 
painting  changes  the  nature  of  its  subjects.  In  real 
life  animals  frequently  go  oflf  veiy  rapidly,  but  when 
they  are  painted  they  don't." 

The  same  gentleman  also  made  a  good  deal  of  fun 
of  one  of  my  first  paintings  —  a  dead  lion.  This  ani- 
mal had  died  in  a  menagerie  in  the  city,  and  having 
heard  of  his  decease,  I  bought  his  remains  for  five 

162 


MY  BULL-CALF.  163 

dollars,  and  after  dark  I  conve3'ed  them  to  my  studio 
in  a  wheelbarrow.  I  was  quite  3^oung  and  enthusiastic 
then,  and  as  the  animal  had  apparently  died  of  a  con- 
sumption, he  was  not  very  heavy.  I  worked  day  and 
night  at  a  life-size  (so  to  speak)  portrait  of  the  beast, 
and  it  was  agreed  by  all  who  saw  it  that  I  succeeded 
very  well.  But  no  one  seemed  inclined  in  the  slightest 
degree  to  buy  the  picture.  "  What  you  are  waiting 
for,"  said  my  facetious  friend,  "  is  the  visit  of  a  live 
ass.  When  he  comes  along  he  will  buy  that  thing, 
and  make  your  fortune." 

My  latest  work  was  a  life-size  picture  of  a  bull-calf. 
Some  time  before,  I  determined  to  devote  myself  to 
cattle  painting,  and  had  bought  a  cow  for  a  model. 
This  I  did  because  I  found  it  difficult  to  have  control 
over  the  cows  of  other  people.  I  live  a  short  distance 
out  of  town,  and  while  the  farmers  thereabout  were 
very  willing  that  I  should  go  into  the  field  and  sketch 
their  cows,  they  would  not  allow  me  to  pen  one  of 
them  up  in  a  confined  space  where  I  could  study  her 
form  and  features  without  following  her,  easel  and 
material  in  hand,  over  a  wide  and  sometimes  marshy 
pasture.  My  cow  proved  a  very  valuable  possession. 
I  rented  a  small  grassy  field  for  her,  and  put  up  a 
cheap  and  comfortable  shed  in  one  corner  of  it.  I  sold 
her  milk  to  the  good  lady  with  whom  I  lived,  and  my 
model  cow  paid  all  her  expenses,  attendance  included. 
She  was  a  gentle  creature,  and  becoming  accustomed 
to  my  presence,  would  generally  remain  in  one  position 
for  a  long  time,  and  when  I  stirred  her  up  would 
readily  assume  some  other  attitude  of  repose.    I  did 


164  MY  BULL-CALF. 

not  always  copy  her  exactly.  Sometimes  I  gave  her 
one  color  and  sometimes  another,  and  sometimes  sev- 
eral blended ;  at  one  time  I  gave  her  horns,  and  at 
another  none ;  and  in  this  way  I  frequently  made  a 
lierd  of  her,  scattering  her  over  a  verdant  mead.  I  did 
not  always  even  paint  her  as  a  cow.  With  a  different 
head  and  branching  horns,  a  longer  neck,  a  thinner 
body,  a  shorter  tail,  and  longer  legs,  she  made  an  ex- 
cellent stag,  the  life-like  poses  which  I  was  enabled  to 
get  giving  the  real  value  to  the  picture.  Once  I  painted 
her  as  a'^spjiinx,  her  body  couched  in  the  conventional 
way,  with  claws  at  the  ends  of  the  legs  instead  of 
hoofs,  and  a  little  altered  in  contour,  making  an  admi- 
rable study ;  and  there  was  an  expression  in  her  eye, 
as  she  meditatively  crunched  a  cabbage  leaf,  which 
made  me  give  it  to  the  woman's  head  that  I  placed 
upon  her. 

''What  a  far-off,  prophetic  look  it  hasl'*  said  one 
who  stood  before  the  picture  when  it  was  finished. 
"  It  seems  to  gaze  across  the  sands  of  Egypt,  and  to 
see  things  thousands  of  years  ahead.  If  you  could  fix 
up  a  little  bit  of  sunset  in  the  distance,  with  some  red 
and  yellow  clouds  in  the  shape  of  the  flag  of  England, 
the  symbolized  sentiment  would  be  quite  perfect." 

The  bull-calf  which  afterward  served  as  my  model 
was  the  son  of  my  cow.  When  he  was  old  enough  to 
go  about  by  himself  and  eat  hay  and  grass,  I  sold  his 
mother  at  a  good  profit,  and  retained  him  as  a  model, 
and  the  life-size  picture  of  him,  on  which  I  worked  for 
a  long  time,  was  my  masterpiece.  When  it  was  nearly 
finished  I  brought  it  to  my  studio,  and  there  day  after 


MY  BULL-CALF.  165 

day  I  touched  and  retouched  it,  often  thinking  it  fin- 
ished, but  always  finding,  when  I  went  home  and 
looked  at  my  calf,  that  there  was  something  of  life 
and  truth  in  the  real  animal  which  I  had  not  given  to 
the  picture,  and  which  I  afterward  strove  to  suggest, 
if  not  to  copy. 

I  had  a  friend  who  occupied  a  studio  in  the  same 
building,  and  who  took  a  great  interest  in  the  portrait 
of  my  bull-calf.  The  specialty  of  this  artist  was  quiet 
landscape  and  flowers,  and  we  had  frequently  gone 
into  the  country  and  sketched  together,  the  one  draw- 
ing the  cattle,  and  the  other  the  field  in  which  they 
roved.  One  day  we  stood  before  my  almost  completed 
work. 

''What  a  spirited  and  life-like  air  he  has!"  re- 
marked my  companion.  "  He  looks  as  if  he  was  just 
about  to  hunch  up  his  back,  give  a  couple  of  awkward 
skips,  and  then  butt  at  us.  I  really  feel  like  shutting., 
the  door,  when  I  come  in,  for  fear  he  should  jump 
down  and  run  away.  You  are  going  to  brighten  up 
the  foreground  a  little,  are  you  not?  " 

''  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  and  what  it  needs  is  a  mod- 
est cluster  of  daisies  in  this  corner.  Won't  you  paint 
them  in  for  me  ?  You  can  do  it  so  much  better  than 
lean!  " 

"No,"  she  answered;  "I  positively  will  not.  No 
one  but  yourself  should  touch  it.  It  is  your  very  best 
work,  and  it  should  be  all  your  picture." 

In  the  course  of  my  life  I  had  not  had,  or  at  least 
I  believed  that  I  had  not  had,  many  of  those  pieces 
of   good   fortune  which  people  call  "opportunities." 


166  MY  BULL-CALF. 

Now  here  was  one,  and  I  determined  to  seize  it. 
>f  "  Why  can  it  not  be ^ou^  picture?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  a  quick  glance,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "What!  are  you  about  to  speak  at 
last?'' 

In  ten  minutes  all  had  been  said,  and  we  were  en- 
gaged to  be  married. 

Our  studios  were  opposite  each  other,  separated  by 
a  wide  hall,  and  it  had  been  our  custom,  when  one 
went  to  luncheon,  for  the  other  to  sit  with  open  door, 
so  that  visitors  to  the  absent  one  might  be  seen  and 
attended  to.  Emma  generally  lunched  at  a  quiet  res- 
taurant near  by,  much  frequented  by  ladies,  and  where 
an  occasional  male  visitor  might  be  seen,  and  to  this 
place  I  also  went  as  soon  as  she  came  back.  I  knew 
her  favorite  little  table  in  the  corner,  and  I  always 
tried'  to  occupy  the  place  she  had  just  vacated.  But 
to-day  we  determined  to  lock  our  studio  doors,  and 
lunch  together.  There  was  really  very  little  reason  to 
expect  a  visitor.  The  waiter  who  attended  to  our 
wants  was  a  quiet  colored  man,  with  white  hair  and 
whiskers,  and  an  expression  of  kindly  observation  on 
his  sable  countenance.  He  arranged  our  table  with 
much  care,  and  listened  to  our  orders  with  a  deference 
I  had  not  noticed  before ;  but  perhaps  he  always 
waited  thus  on  ladies.  While  we  were  eating  he  re- 
tired to  a  little  distance,  and  stood  regarding  us  with 
an  interested  but  not  too  intent  attention.  We  had 
so  often  eaten  at  the  same  table,  but  never  before  at 
the  same  time. 

When  we  returned  we  went  first  to  my  studio,  and 


MY  BULL-CALF.  167 

when  we  opened  the  door  the  bull-calf  seemed  to  smile. 
We  both  noticed  it. 

"There  is  something  in  the  way  he  looks  at  us,'* 
said  Emma,  "  that  reminds  me  of  our  old  waiter." 

'^  Strange,"  I  replied.     "  I  noticed  that  myself." 

Again  I  urged  her  to  make  the  daisies  for  me,  but 
she  still  refused. 

"No,"  she  said.  "It  is  your  picture,  and  you 
must  not  be  unable  to  say  that  j^ou  did  it  all  yourself. 
And,  besides,  if  I  were  to  put  in  any  daisies,  3'our 
calf  is  so  natural  that  he  would  snip  them  off.  I  will 
not  have  my  daisies  snipped  off,  even  by  that  hand- 
some creature." 

She  looked  up,  as  she  said  this,  with  a  smile  as 
bright  and  fresh  as  any  daisy,  and  I —  But  never 
mind. 

The  next  day  we  went  again  together  to  the  restau- 
rant, and  the  kindly  observation  deepened  on  the  face 
of  the  waiter.  When  he  had  arranged  with  unusual 
nicety  the  little  table  service,  he  placed  before  Emma 
a  wine-glass  containing  a  button-hole  bouquet.  When 
we  were  leaving  he  detained  me  a  moment,  and  said, 
in  a  low  voice, 

"After  this,  sir,  if  3'ou  would  first  order  your  beef 
for  one  with  two  plates,  and  then  order  the  lady's 
chicken  and  salad  for  one  with  two  plates,  you  would 
each  have  some  beef  and  some  chicken.  It  wouldn't 
cost  any  more,  sir,  and  'twould  make  more  of  a 
menw." 

"  '  After  this !  '  "  I  mentally  repeated,  as  I  grate- 
fully put  my  hand  in  my  pocket.     If  that  old  waiter 


168  MY  BULL-CALF. 

had  been  an  artist,  what  a  gift^jsppwers  of  observa- 
tion would  have  been  to  him  ! 

We  agreed  that  we  would  be  married  in  the  early 
autumn,  for  truly  there  was  little  reason  for  delay. 
"  It  has  been  so  many,  many  months,"  I  said,  "  since 
I  declared  to  myself  that  I  would  never  marry  any  one 
but  you  that  I  really  consider  that  I  have  been  engaged 
to  3'ou  for  a  very  long  time." 

' '  I  may  as  well  admit  that  something  of  the  same 
kind  has  passed  through  my  mind.  It  is  no  harm 
to  tell  you  so  now,  and  it  will  make  more  of  a 
menu.'* 

If  my  calf  really  cared  to  snip  daisies,  he  must  have 
envied  me  then. 

There  was  no  impediment  to  our  early  marriage  ex- 
cept the  fact  that  neither  of  us  had  any  money. 

"What  you  must  do,"  said  Emma,  "is  to  finish 
your  picture  and  sell  it.  You  must  stop  looking  at  the 
calf  you  have  at  home.  Of  course  he  is  growing  every 
day,  and  new  beauties  are  coming  out  on  him  all  the 
time.  You  can  not  expect  to  have  his  picture  keep 
pace  with  his  development.  After  a  while  you  will 
have  to  give  him  horns,  and  make  him  larger." 

"  The  model  is  bigger  now  than  the  picture,"  I  said  ; 
"  and  I  must  take  3'our  advice,  and  stop  looking  at 
him.     If  I  don't,  his  portrait  will  never  be  done." 

I  would  not  put  any  flowers  in  the  foreground,  for, 
if  I  did  so,  I  was  sure  they  would  look  as  if  they  had 
been  picked  out  of  a  lady's  bonnet.  After  what  I  had 
seen  Emma  do,  I  knew  I  could  not  paint  daisies  and 
buttercups.     I  put  in  some  pale  mullein  leaves,  and 


MY  BULL-CALF.  169 

a  point  of  rock  which  caught  the  light,  and  when  this 
was  done  I  determined  to  call  the  picture  finished. 

*'  What  are  you  going  to  ask  for  it?  "  asked  Emma. 

''  I  had  tliought  of  a  thousand  dollars.  Don't  j^ou 
consider  that  is  a  reasonable  price?  " 

''I  think  it  is  a  very  low  price,"  she  answered, 
"  considering  the  size  of  the  picture  and  the  admira- 
ble way  in  which  it  is  painted.  I  imagine  it  is  seldom 
that  a  picture  like  that  is  offered  at  a  thousand  dollars  ; 
but,  as  you  want  to  sell  it  very  much,  I  suppose  it  will 
be  well  not  to  ask  any  more." 

"  I  do  want  very  much  to  sell  it,"  I  said,  giving  her 
hand  a  squeeze  which  she  understood. 

I  had  also  made  up  my  mind  in  regard  to  the  mode 
of  disposing  of  the  picture.  Some  weeks  before,  an 
artist  friend  in  Boston  had  written  to  me  that  a  well- 
known  picture-dealer  would  open  in  that  city  early  in 
September  an  art  establishment  particularly  for  the  sale 
of  pictures  on  commission,  and  that  he  would  inaugu- 
rate his  enterprise  with  an  exhibition  of  paintings, 
which  he  wished  to  make  as  extensive  and  attractive 
as  possible. 

"If  you  have  anything  good,  finished  in  time," 
wrote  my  friend,  "  I  think  you  will  do  well  to  send  it 
to  Schemroth.  He  knows  your  work,  and,  if  I  mistake 
not,  bought  one  of  your  pictures  when  he  was  in  busi- 
ness in  New  York.  I  doubt  if  he  has  many  animal 
subjects,  and  he  wants  variety.  He  says  he  is  going 
to  make  his  exhibition  one  of  the  art  features  of  the 
season." 

Emma  agreed  with  me  that  I  could  not  do  better 


170  MY  BULL-CALF. 

than  send  my  picture  to  Schemroth.  He  was  an  enter- 
prising man,  and  would  Be  certain  to  do  everything  he 
could  to  attract  attention  to  his  exhibition,  and  she  felt 
sure  that  if  the  art  public  of  Boston  had  a  good  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  my  picture  it  would  certainly  be  sold. 

The  painting  was  carefully  packed,  and  sent  to 
Boston,  in  care  of  my  friend  there,  who  shortly  after- 
ward wrote  me  that  Schemroth  liked  it,  and  had  given 
it  a  good  place  in  his  gallery,  which  would  open  in  a 
day  or  two.  My  studio  looked  very  bare  and  empty 
after  the  departure  of  my  spirited  bull-calf,  so  long 
my  daily  companion  ;  but  my  mind  was  so  occupied 
with  the  consideration  of  the  important  event  which 
was  to  follow  his  sale  that  I  did  not  miss  him  as  much 
as  I  would  otherwise  have  done.  Emma  and  I  talked 
a  good  deal  about  the  best  way  of  beginning  our  mar- 
ried life,  and  I  was  much  in  favor  of  a  trip  to  Europe ; 
but  in  regard  to  this  she  did  not  agree  with  me. 

"  A  thousand  dollars,"  she  said,  "  would  not  go  far 
for  such  a  purpose.  The  steamer  tickets  would  cost 
us  about  a  hundred  dollars  apiece,  and  that  would  be 
four  hundred  dollars  to  go  and  come  back.  Then  you 
certainly  ought  to  keep  a  hundred  dollars  for  your  own 
use  before  you  start,  and  that  would  only  leave  five 
hundred  dollars  with  which  to  go  to  Paris  and  Rome 
and  Dresden.  If  we  did  less  than  that,  it  would  be 
hardly  worth  while  to  go  at  all.  And  five  hundred 
dollars  would  not  begin  to  be  enough  for  two  people." 

I  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  was  correct,  and  the 
European  trip  was  given  up. 

"  My  idea  is,"  said  Emma,  "  that  we  ought  to  take 


MY  BULL-CALF.  171 

the  money  and  furnish  a  house  with  it.  That  will  be 
a  good  practical  beginning,  and  after  a  while,  when  we 
have  painted  a  few  more  pictures,  we  can  go  to  Europe. 
You  could  keep  a  hundred  dollars  for  your  own  use  ; 
we  could  put  aside  two  hundred  for  rainy  days  or  what- 
ever kind  of  weather  it  may  be  when  money  is  needed 
and  there  is  none  coming  in,  and  then  with  seven  hun- 
dred dollars  we  could  buy  enough  furniture  and  other 
things  to  begin  housekeeping  in  a  small  way.  By  this 
plan,  you  see,  sir,  your  beautiful  calf  would  give  us 
an  excellent  start  in  life." 

This  proposition  needed  no  discussion.  Before  she 
had  half  finished  speaking  I  was  convinced  that  noth- 
ing could  be  more  sensible  and  delightful.  "We  must 
look  for  a  house  immediately,"  I  said.  *'  It  won't  do 
to  put  off  that  part  of  the  business.  We  should  know 
where  we  are  going  to  live,  so  that  when  we  are  ready 
to  buy  the  furniture  there  need  be  no  delay." 

Good  fortunes  as  well  as  misfortunes  sometimes 
object  to  coming  singly  ;  and  just  at  this  time  I  heard 
of  something  which  was  certainl}'  a  piece  of  rare  good 
luck  to  a  young  couple  contemplating  matrimony.  A 
gentleman  named  Osburn,  who  lived  near  my  country 
home,  with  whom  I  had  become  well  acquainted,  and 
to  whom  I  had  confided  the  important  news  of  my 
engagement,  met  me  on  the  train  a  day  or  two  after 
Emma  and  I  had  agreed  upon  +he  furniture  project, 
and  told  me  that  if  I  intended  to  go  to  housekeeping 
he  thought  he  could  offer  me  a  desirable  opportunity. 
"  My  wife  and  I,"  he  said,  "  wish  very  much  to  travel 
for  a  year  or  two,  and  the  time  has  now  arrived  when 


172  il/F  BULL-CALF. 

we  can  do  it,  if  we  can  dispose  of  our  household  effects, 
and  get  some  one  to  take  our  house,  on  which  we  have 
a  lease.  Now  if  you  are  going  to  marry,  and  care  foi 
a  place  like  ours,  it  might  be  worth  your  while  to  con- 
sider the  question  of  taking  it  and  buying  our  furni- 
ture. We  will  sell  everything  just  as  it  is,  excepting, 
of  course,  the  books  and  such  small  articles  as  have 
a  personal  value,  and  you  can  walk  right  in  and  begin 
housekeeping  at  once.  Everything  was  new  two  years 
ago,  and  you  know  my  wife  is  a  very  careful  house- 
keeper. The  house  is  small  and  very  simply  furnished, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  want  to  add  all  sorts 
of  things,  but  at  first  3^ou  wouldn't  really  need  any- 
thing that  you  wouldn't  find  there.  We  wish  to  dispose 
of  the  whole  establishment  —  linen,  china,  silver  (it's 
only  plated,  but  it's  very  good),  kitchen  utensils,  gar- 
den tools,  a  lot  of  fine  poultry,  a  dog,  a  cat  —  every- 
thing, in  fact,  excepting  the  few  articles  I  spoke  of. 
What  do  you  say  ?  ' ' 

''Say!"  I  exclaimed;  "there  is  nothing  to  say, 
except  that  I  should  be  perfectly  delighted  to  take  the 
place  off  your  hands  if  I  could  afford  it ;  but  I  am 
afraid  your  price  would  be  above  my  means.  I  sup- 
pose you  would  want  to  sell  all  or  nothing?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mr.  Osburn  ;  "  it  would  not  pay  us 
to  sell  out  piecemeal,  and  we  do  not  wish  to  let  the 
house  to  any  one  who  will  not  buy  the  furniture.  If 
you  think  the  proposition  worth  considering,  my  wife 
and  I  will  make  an  estimate  of  what  we  consider  the 
effects  worth,  and  let  you  know." 

I  told  him  I  should  be  very  glad  indeed  to  know, 


31 Y  BULL-CALF.  173 

and  he  said  I  should  hear  from  him  in  a  day  or 
two. 

When  I  told  Emma  of  this,  and  described  to  her  the 
Osburns'  house,  with  its  neat  and  comfortable  furni- 
ture, its  aesthetic  wall-paper,  its  convenient  and  airy 
rooms,  its  well-kept  garden  and  little  lawn,  its  hand- 
some barn  and  poultry-house,  the  wide  pasture  field 
belonging  to  it,  the  little  patch  of  woodland  at  the 
upper  end,  the  neatness  and  order  of  everything  about 
the  place  ;  and  all  this  at  a  very  moderate  rental,  with 
a  lease  that  had  several  years  to  run,  she  agreed  with 
me  that  while  it  would  be  perfectly  delightful  to  take 
this  ready-made  home  off  the  Osburns'  hands,  there 
was  no  reason  for  us  to  hope  that  we  should  be  able 
to  do  it.  We  should  have  to  be  content  with  some- 
thing far  less  complete  and  perfect  than  this. 

Two  days  after,  I  received  a  note  from  Osburn. 
''We  have  carefully  considered  the  present  value  of 
our  possessions,"  he  said,  ''  with  an  especial  view  of 
making  it  an  object  to  you  to  buy  them  as  a  whole. 
Everything  is  in  good  order,  but  as  we  have  had  two 
years'  use  of  the  articles,  we  have  considered  that  fact 
in  making  an  estimate  of  what  we  think  we  ought  to 
receive  for  them.  After  going  over  the  matter  several 
times  we  have  determined  to  offer  you  the  furniture 
and  other  things  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  for  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

""S^Tiy,"  cried  Emma,  as  she  read  this  letter  over 
my  shoulder  (for  I  had  taken  it  into  her  studio  before 
I  opened  it),  "  that  is  only  fifty  dollars  more  than  we 
had  appropriated !  " 


174  MY  BULL-CALF. 

''  But  we  won't  stop  for  that,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  said,  as  with  sparkling  eyes  and  glow- 
ing cheeks  she  took  both  my  hands  in  her  own  —  regard- 
less of  the  fact  that  she  already  held  a  brush  heavily 
charged  with  Vandyck  brown  —  "  I  should  think  not." 

To  work  any  more  then  was  impossible  for  either  of 
us.  That  afternoon  we  shut  up  both  our  studios,  and 
went  out  to  look  at  the  paradise  which  had  been  offered 
us.  Mr.  Osburn  had  not  yet  come  home,  but  his  wife 
took  great  pleasure  in  making  Emma's  acquaintance 
and  in  showing  us  over  the  house  and  grounds.  We 
found  everything  better  of  its  kind,  better  adapted  to 
the  place  in  which  it  was,  better  suited  to  our  every 
purpose,  and  altogether  ever  so  much  more  desirable, 
than  we  had  thought.  I  never  saw  Emma  so  enthusi- 
astic. Even  the  picture  of  my  bull-calf  had  not  moved 
her  thus.  If  the  price  had  not  been  fixed  beforehand, 
our  delighted  satisfaction  would  have  been  very  impoli- 
tic. When  Mr.  Osburn  returned  I  told  him  without 
hesitation  that  I  would  accept  his  offer.  I  think  that 
he  and  his  wife  were  almost  as  much  pleased  as  we 
were.  They  had  set  their  hearts  on  an  extended  tour 
in  the  South  and  far  West.  The  lady's  health  de- 
manded this,  and  her  husband  had  found  that  he  could 
now  so  arrange  his  business  as  to  unite  travel  with 
profit ;  but  it  would  have  been  impossible,  as  he  after- 
ward told  me,  for  him  to  adopt  this  new  mode  of  life 
without  first  disposing  of  his  furniture  and  household 
goods.  Ready  money,  I  fancy,  was  not  abundant  with 
him. 

When  we  took  leave  of  the  Osburns  four  people  in 


MY  BULL-CALF.  175 

very  high  spirits  stx)od  shaking  hands  in  the  porch  of 
the  pretty  house  in  which  we  had  decided  to  make  our 
home.  There  was  an  extraordinarily  good  point  in 
this  extraordinary  piece  of  good  fortune  which  had 
befallen  us.  If  the  Osburns  had  wished  to  settle  the 
business  with  us  at  once  it  would,  of  course,  have  been 
impossible  for  us  to  do  our  part,  but  it  would  be  at 
least  six  weeks  before  they  intended  to  give  up  their 
house,  and  in  that  time  we  felt  quite  sure  that  my 
picture  would  be  sold.  But  although  we  could  take 
no  actual  steps  toward  making  our  arrangements  for 
housekeeping,  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  our  think- 
ing and  talking  about  them,  and  planning  what  was 
to  be  done ;  and  this  occupied  a  great  deal  of  our 
time,  much  to  the  detriment,  I  am  sure,  of  our  daily 
work.  We  were  always  finding  new  good  points  in  the 
matter. 

"  The  only  things  about  the  Osburn  house  that  I 
don't  like,"  said  Emma,  "  are  the  pictures  and  the 
bric-a-brac.  Now  these  are  the  things  that  they  want 
to  keep,  and  if  we  are  well  off  in  any  way,  it  is  in 
pictures,  and  we  can  just  take  some  of  the  paintings 
we  have  on  hand,  and  a  lot  of  our  large  engravings, 
and  have  them  framed,  and  with  that  old  armor  and 
brass  and  china  which  you  have  collected,  and  which 
an  animal  painter  doesn't  want  in  his  studio  anywa}^ 
we  can  make  our  house  look  just  lovely.  I  have  col- 
lected too,  and  I  have  a  good  many  nice  things  in  my 
room  which  you  have  never  seen." 

"  The  house  is  a  good  one  now,"  I  exclaimed,  "  but 
it  will  look  like  another  place  when  you  and  I  get  into 


176  MY  BULL-CALF. 

it.  And  there  is  another  thing  that  I  have  been 
thinking  about.  Of  course  I'll  take  my  calf  over  there 
the  first  thing,  and  he  will  get  a  great  deal  better 
eating  in  that  meadow  than  he  has  now.  But  he  won't 
be  the  only  animal  we  shall  have.  I  intend  to  have  a 
little  model  farm ;  that  is  to  say,  a  farm  on  which  we 
will  keep  models.  Of  course  we  shall  have  a  cow,  and 
she  will  not  only  give  us  milk  and  butter,  but  I  can 
paint  her.  There  is  a  fine  little  barn  and  stable  on  the 
place,  but  Osburn  says  he  never  thought  he  ought  to 
keep  a  horse,  because  the  house  is  only  five  minutes 
from  the  station,  and  it  would  be  a  piece  of  sheer  ex- 
travagance for  him  to  have  a  horse  merely  to  drive  about 
after  he  came  home  at  night.  But  it  wouldn't  be 
extravagant  in  me ;  it  would  be  actual  economy.  I 
ought  to  paint  horses,  and  to  do  so  properly  and  eco- 
nomically I  should  own  one.  And  so  with  all  sorts  of 
animals.  If  I  buy  a  fine  dog  or  a  beautiful  cat,  it  will 
actually  be  money  in  my  pocket." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Emma;  "but  you  mustn't 
bring  any  wild  animals  there  until  they  are  so  dead 
that  you  can  wheel  them  home  in  a  wheelbarrow.  It 
will  be  perfectly  delightful  to  have  a  horse,  and,  as  I 
intend  to  paint  birds  as  well  as  flowers,  I  can  begin  on 
the  hens  and  little  chickens  and  the  ducks ;  and  the 
sparrows  and  robins,  if  I  can  make  them  tame  enough 
for  me  to  sketch  them." 

"Yes,"  I  exclaimed,  "and  you  can  paint  the  wild 
flowers  in  your  own  field ;  and  we'll  raise  splendid 
Jacqueminot  roses,  and  the  hybrid  tea,  and  other  fine 
kinds ;  and  we'll  fix  up  a  room  for  them  in  the  winter. 


MY  BULL-CALF.  Ill 

SO  that  you  can  always  have  flowers  for  models  at 
whatever  stage  you  want  them.** 

In  the  weeks  that  followed  we  paid  several  visits  to 
the  Osburns  by  their  invitation,  during  which  the 
husband  explained  to  me  the  management  of  the  celery 
beds,  and  many  of  his  out-door  improvements,  while 
the  wife  had  some  long  conversations  with  Emma 
about  her  household  arrangements. 

As  the  time  approached  when  the  Osburns  wished  to 
give  up  their  house,  Emma  and  I  became  very  anxious 
to  hear  from  Boston.  I  had  written  to  my  friend  there 
explaining  the  situation,  and  he  had  promised  to  attend 
to  the  matter,  and  see  that  Schemroth  communicated 
with  me  as  soon  as  the  picture  was  sold ;  so  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  wait.  I  frequently  met  Mr.  Osburn 
on  the  train,  and  I  began  to  feel,  as  the  time  passed  on, 
that  I  ought  to  be  able  to  say  something  to  him  about 
concluding  our  bargain. 

Of  course  he  must  have  his  preparations  to  make, 
and  he  would  not  wish  to  delay  them  too  long.  Al- 
though there  was  no  real  reason  for  it,  as  we  assured 
ourselves  over  and  over,  both  P^mma  and  I  began  to  be 
very  uneasy,  and  we  sometimes  even  regretted  that  we 
had  accepted  Mr.  Osburn' s  offer.  If  we  had  not 
complicated  the  affair  in  this  way  we  could  have  calmly 
waited  until  the  picture  was  sold,  and  have  then  done 
what  seemed  to  us  best.  There  was  no  probability 
that  we  would  have  met  with  so  good  an  opportunity 
of  going  to  housekeeping,  but  we  should  have  been 
independent  and  easy  in  our  minds.  But  now  we  were 
neither.     The  plans  and  prospects  of  others  depended 


178  MY  BULL-CALF. 

upon  us,  and  our  uneasiness  and  anxiety  increased 
every  day.  I  disliked  to  meet  Mr.  Osburn,  and  every 
morning  hoped  that  he  would  not  be  on  the  train. 
Never  did  I  await  the  arrival  of  the  mails  with  more 
anxiety  and  impatience. 

One  day,  as  Emma  and  I  were  returning  from 
luncheon,  the  janitor  of  the  building  met  us  at  the 
door.  "A  box  came  for  you,  sir,  by  express,"  he 
said.  "  I  paid  two  dollars  and  twenty  cents  on  it.  It 
is  up  in  3'our  room.'* 

I  said  nothing,  but  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket.  I 
began  to  count  the  money  in  my  pocket-book,  but  my 
hand  shook,  and  I  dropped  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  on  the 
floor,  which  rolled  off  to  some  distance.  As  the 
janitor  went  to  pick  it  up,  Emma  approached  me,  and 
I  noticed  that  she  was  very  pale. 

"  If  you  haven't  enough,"  she  said,  "I  have  some 
change  with  me." 

I  needed  seventy  cents  to  make  up  the  sum,  and 
Emma  gave  it  to  me.  And  then,  without  a  word,  we 
went  upstairs.  We  did  not  hurry,  but  it  was  the  first 
time,  I  think,  that  I  ever  became  out  of  breath  in 
going  up  those  stairs.  The  moment  we  looked  at  the 
box  we  knew.     The  picture  had  been  sent  back. 

I  gazed  at  it  blankly,  reading  over  and  over  the 
painted  address. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  open  it,"  said  Emma,  in  a 
very  low  voice.     "  It  may  not  be  —  " 

As  quickly  as  I  could  I  took  off  the  center  board. 
The  bull-calf,  with  a  melancholy  greeting  in  his  eyes, 
looked  out  upon  us.     Then  Emma  sat  down  upon  the 


MY  BULL-CALF.  179 

nearest  chair  and  burst  into  tears,  and  I  drew  near  to 
comfort  her. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  had  taken  the  picture  from  the 
box,  which  I  carefully  searched.  "Do  you  know,"  I 
cried,  a  sudden  anger  taking  the  place  of  the  deadened 
sensation  of  my  heart,  ''that  this  is  an  outrageous 
insult?  He  should  have  written  to  me  before  he  sent 
it  back ;  but  to  return  it,  without  a  word  or  line  of  any 
kind,  is  simply  brutal." 

I  said  a  great  deal  more  than  this.  I  was  very  angry. 
I  would  write  to  Schemroth,  and  let  him  know  what  I 
thought  of  this.  Emma  now  endeavored  to  soothe  my 
passion,  and  urged  me  not  to  do  anything  in  a  moment 
of  excitement  which  might  injure  me  in  a  business 
point  of  view.  I  did  not  promise  forbearance,  but 
suddenly  exclaimed:  "And  then  there  is  Osburn ! 
He  must  be  told.  It  will  be  a  hard,  hard  thing  to  do  ! 
They  will  both  be  terribly  disappointed.  It  will  break 
up  all  their  plans." 

"  I  have  thought  about  the  Osburns,"  said  Emma, 
coming  close  to  me,  and  putting  her  hands  upon  my 
arm,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  what  we  will  do.  I  will  go 
and  see  Mrs.  Osburn.  That  will  be  much  better  than 
for  you  to  see  her  husband.  She  will  not  be  angry, 
and  I  can  explain  everything  to  her  so  that  she  will 
understand." 

"  No,  my  dear, ' '  said  I ;  "  that  will  not  do.  I  shall  not 
suffer  you  to  bear  what  must  be  the  very  heaviest  brunt 
of  this  trouble.  In  a  case  like  this  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
man  to  put  himself  forward.  I  must  go  immediately 
and  see  Osburn  at  his  office  before  he  starts  for  home." 


180  MY  BULL-CALF. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  Of 
course  the  man  ought  to  take  the  lead  in  most  things, 
but  there  may  be  times  when  it  will  be  easier  and  better 
for  the  wife  to  go  first." 

The  moment  she  said  these  words  she  blushed,  and 
I  snatched  her  into  my  arms.  The  wife !  If  those 
rich  lovers  of  art  had  only  known  what  they  might  have 
made  of  this  dear  girl  by  buying  my  picture,  it  would 
never  have  come  back  to  me. 

But  time  was  flying,  and  if  I  was  to  see  Osburn  at 
his  office,  I  must  hurry.  The  thing  was  hard  enough 
to  do,  as  it  was,  and  I  did  not  feel  that  I  could  have 
the  heart  to  tell  the  story  in  the  presence  of  his  wife. 

"If  he  is  very  much  troubled,"  said  Emma,  ''and 
says  anything  to  you  which  you  do  not  like,  you  will 
not  let  him  make  you  angry,  will  you?  " 

''Oh  no,"  said  I;  "  I  am  not  so  unreasonable  as 
that.  I  have  so  much  pity  for  him  that  he  may  say  to 
me  what  he  pleases.     I  will  bear  it  all." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  Emma,  looking  up 
at  me,  "  and  I  do  wish  you  would  let  me  see  Mrs. 
Osburn." 

But  I  was  firm  in  my  resolution  not  to  shift  this  very 
unpleasant  duty  upon  Emma,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I 
had  started  down-town.  When  I  reached  Mr.  Osburn 's 
place  of  business  I  found  that  he  had  gone  home, 
although  it  was  several  hours  earlier  than  his  usual 
time  of  leaving.  "He  had  something  he  wanted  to 
attend  to  at  his  house,"  said  one  of  the  clerks. 

This  was  a  great  disappointment  to  me,  for  now  I 
would  be  obliged  to  go  to  see  him  that  evening,  and 


MY  BULL-CALF.  181 

most  probabh'  to  tell  him  the  bad  news  in  the  presence 
of  his  wife.  I  did  not  fully  appreciate  until  now  how 
much  easier  it  would  have  been  to  talk  to  him  at  his 
desk  in  the  city.  As  I  walked  toward  the  Osburns* 
house  just  after  dark  that  evening  I  could  scarcely 
believe  that  I  was  going  to  the  place  which  I  had 
lately  visited  with  such  delight.  Emma  and  I  had 
fallen  into  the  way  of  already  considering  the  house 
and  grounds  as  our  own,  and  as  I  opened  the  gate  I 
remembered  how  we  had  stood  there  while  I  told  her 
about  some  improvements  I  intended  to  make  in  said 
gate,  so  that  the  weight  and  chain  would  never  fail 
to  latch  it.  And  now  it  made  no  difference  to  me 
whether  the  gate  latched  or  not.  And  the  flower 
borders,  too,  on  each  side  of  the  path  !  How  Emma 
had  talked  to  me,  when  we  had  walked  far  enough 
away,  so  as  to  be  sure  not  to  hurt  Mrs.  Osburn's 
feelings,  of  what  she  intended  to  do  in  those  borders ! 
It  all  seemed  to  me  like  visiting  the  grave  of  a  home. 
But  I  walked  steadily  up  to  the  house.  The  parlor 
shutters  were  wide  open,  and  the  room  was  brightly 
lighted,  so  that  I  could  see  plainly  what  was  passing 
within.  There  was  an  air  of  disorder  about  the  pretty 
room.  Mr.  Osburn,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  was  on  a  step- 
ladder  taking  down  a  picture  from  the  wall,  while  his 
wife  stood  below  ready  to  receive  it.  All  the  other 
pictures — the  portraits  of  their  parents  and  the  chromos 
which  Emma  and  I  thought  so  little  of,  but  which  the}- 
valued  so  highly  —  had  been  already  taken  down. 
These,  with  various  little  articles  of  ornament  and  nse, 
valuable  to  them  on  account  of  association  with  some 


182  MY  BULL-CALF. 

dear  friend  or  some  dear  time,  were  the  things  which 
they  intended  to  reserve  ;  and  it  was  plain  that  it  was 
to  take  down  and  pack  up  these  that  Mr.  Osbiirn  had 
come  home  early  that  day.  It  was  now  only  four  days 
from  the  date  he  had  fixed  for  surrendering  the  house 
to  me,  and  he  was  working  hard  to  have  everything 
ready  for  us.  He  knew  very  well  that  Emma  and  I  had 
arranged  that  we  would  be  quietly  married  as  soon  as 
the  house  should  be  ours,  and  that  in  this  charming 
home,  all  ready  to  our  hands,  we  would  immediately  be- 
gin our  married  life.  How  earnestly  and  honestly  they 
were  doing  their  part ! 

I  do  not  think  I  am  a  coward,  but  as  I  stood  and 
gazed  at  these  two  I  felt  that  it  would  be  simply  im- 
possible for  me  to  walk  into  that  room  and  tell  them 
that  they  might  hang  up  their  pictures  again  and  un- 
pack their  bric-a-brac,  and  that  they  were  not  going  to 
take  the  pleasant  journeys  they  had  planned,  until  they 
had  found  some  other  person,  more  able  to  keep  to  his 
word  than  I  was,  who  should  take  their  house  and  buy 
their  goods. 

No,  I  could  not  do  it.  I  would  go  home  and  write 
to  Osburn.  I  did  not  feel  that  this  was  as  manly  a 
course  as  to  speak  to  him  face  to  face,  but  I  could  not 
speak  to  him  now.  As  I  was  about  to  turn  away,  Os- 
burn got  down  from  the  ladder,  and  they  both  looked 
around  the  room.  Their  faces  wore  an  expression  of 
pleasant  satisfaction  at  the  conclusion  of  their  task,  but 
mingled,  I  truly  believe,  with  a  feeling  of  regret  that 
they  should  leave  to  us  such  bare  walls.  How  Emma 
and  I  had  talked  of  what  we  intended  to  do  with  those 


MY  BULL-CALF.  183 

walls  !  How  I  had  drawn  little  sketches  of  them,  and 
how  we  had  planned  and  arranged  for  every  space ! 

I  hurried  home,  wrote  a  note,  and  tore  it  up.  I  wrote 
another,  but  that  too  did  not  properly  express  the  situa- 
tion. It  was  late,  and  I  could  do  no  more.  I  would 
write  in  the  morning,  take  the  letter  into  town  and  show 
it  to  Emma,  and  then  send  it  to  Osburn  at  the  office. 

The  next  day  P^rama  was  in  my  studio  reading  the 
disgraceful  confession  I  had  written,  when  the  janitor 
came  in,  and  handed  me  a  letter. 

"  It  is  from  Osburn,"  I  exclaimed,  glancing  at  the 
address,  as  the  man  closed  the  door  behind  him.  "  I 
know  his  handwriting.  Now  this  is  too  bad.  If 
Schemroth  had  only  treated  me  with  decent  politeness 
I  could  have  seen  Osburn,  or  have  written  to  him,  be- 
fore he  felt  himself  obliged  to  remind  me  that  the  time 
had  come  for  me  to  attend  to  my  part  of  the  contract." 

"But  you  must  not  allow  yourself  to  be  so  disturbed," 
said  Emma.     ''  You  don't  know  what  he  has  written." 

''  That  is  the  only  thing  he  could  write  about,"  said 
I,  bitterly,  as  I  opened  the  letter.  "It  is  very  humil- 
iating." 

We  read  the  note  together.  It  was  very  brief,  and 
ran  thus  : 

**  Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  a  customer  who  is  willing  to  buy  your 
picture,  but  he  is  dissatisfied  with  the  foreground.  If  you  will 
put  in  some  daisies  or  other  field  flowers  to  brighten  it  up  and 
throw  the  animal  a  Httle  back,  he  will  take  it.  I  can  ask  him 
enough  to  cover  your  price  and  my  commission.  As  I  am  sure 
you  will  make  the  alterations,  I  will  forward  the  picture  to 
you  immediately. 

"  Yours  truly, 

L.  SCHEMROTH." 


184  MY  BULL-CALF. 

The  letter  had  been  written  four  days  previously. 

We  looked  at  each  other,  unable  to  speak.  Our  great 
cloud  had  turned  completely  over,  and  its  lining  dazzled 
us.  We  found  words  very  soon,  but  I  will  not  repeat 
them  here.  We  could  have  fallen  down  and  worshipped 
our  pamted  calf. 

"  And  now,  my  darling,"  I  cried,  '^  will  you  put  the 
daisies  in  our  picture  ?  ' ' 

"Indeed  will  I,"  she  said.  And  away  she  ran  for 
her  paints  and  brushes. 

The  rest  of  that  afternoon  she  steadily  painted, 
while  I  sat  beside  her,  watching  every  touch  of  her 
brush. 

"  This  daisy,"  she  said,  as  she  finished  the  first  one, 
is  to  make  3'ou  happy,  and  the  next  one  will  be  for  my- 
self ;  then  I  will  pamt  two  more  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Os- 
burn,  and  you  must  not  fail  to  go  and  tell  them  to-night 
that  you  will  settle  up  our  business  in  a  very  short  time  ; 
and  I  will  paint  a  small  daisy  for  Mr.  Schemroth,  and 
if  he  hadn't  forgotten  to  mail  his  letter  when  it  was 
written  I  would  have  made  his  daisy  bigger." 

The  picture  soon  went  back  to  Boston,  and  the  ori- 

'ginal  of  it  now  spends  most  of  his  time  looking  over 

.  the  fence  of  his  pasture  into  the  pretty  yard  of  the 

*  house  where  the  Osburns  used  to  live,  and  hoping  that 

some  one  will  come  and  give  him  some  cabbage  leaves. 

If  he  could  see  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen  he  would  see 

that  the  parlor  of  that  house  is  hung  with  the  spoils 

from  the  studios  of  two  artists,  that  there  is  a  room  in 

the  second  story,  with  a  northern  light,  in  which  flowers 

grow  on  canvas  as  beautifully  as  they  grow  in  the  fields 


MY  BULL-CALF.  185 

and  garden,  and  where  a  large  picture  is  steadily  pro- 
gi'essing  in  which  he  figures  as  "  The  Coming  Mon- 
arch." He  would  also  see,  far  away  on  the  Pacific 
shore,  another  couple  whom  he  has  helped  to  make 
happy  ;  and  if  he  could  cast  his  eyes  Bostonward  he 
would  see,  every  now  and  then,  Mr.  Schemroth  writing 
to  me  to  know  when  I  could  send  him  other  animal 
pictures,  and  assuring  me  that  he  can  find  ready  and 
profitable  sale  for  all  that  I  can  paint.  And,  best  of 
all,  he  could  see,  every  day,  Emma  painting  daisies 
into  my  life. 


THE  DISCOURAGER  OF  HESITANCY. 

A  CONTINUATION  OF  "THE  LADY,  OR  THE  TIGER?' 


IT  was  nearly  a  j^ear  after  the  occurrence  of  that  event 
in  the  arena  of  the  semi-barbaric  King  known  as 
the  incident  of  the  lady  or  the  tiger,  that  there  came  to 
the  palace  of  this  monarch  a  deputation  of  five  stran- 
gers from  a  far  country.  These  men,  of  venerable  and 
dignified  aspict  uiid  demeanor,  were  received  by  a  high 
officer  of  the  court,  and  to  him  the}^  made  known  their 
errand. 

"  Most  noble  officer,"  said  the  speaker  of  the  depu- 
tation, "it  so  happened  that  one  of  our  countrymen 
was  present  here,  in  your  capital  city,  on  that  moment- 
ous occasion  when  a  young  man  who  had  dared  to 
aspire  to  the  hand  of  your  King's  daughter  had  been 
placed  in  the  arena,  in  the  midst  of  the  assembled 
multitude,  and  ordered  to  open  one  of  two  doors,  not 
knowing  whether  a  ferocious  tiger  would  spring  out 
upon  him,  or  a  beauteous  lady  would  advance,  ready 
to  become  his  bride.  Our  fellow-citizen  who^ao  then 
present  was  a  man  of  super-sensitive  feelings,  and  at 
the  moment  when  the  youth  was  about  to  open  the  door 
186 


THE   DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY.  187 

he  was  so  fearful  lest  he  should  behold  a  horrible 
spectacle,  that  his  nerves  failed  him,  and  he  fled  pre- 
cipitately from  the  arena,  and  mounting  his  camel  rode 
homeward  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 

"We  were  all  very  much  interested  in  the  story 
which  our  countryman  told  us,  and  we  were  extremely 
sorry  that  he  did  not  wait  to  see  the  end  of  the  affair. 
We  hoped,  however,  that  in  a  few  weeks  some  traveler 
from  your  city  would  come  among  us  and  bring  us  fur- 
ther news  ;  but  up  to  the  day  when  we  left  our  country, 
no  such  traveler  had  arrived.  At  last  it  was  deter- 
mined that  the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  send  a 
deputation  to  this  country,  and  to  ask  the  question  : 
'  Which  came  out  of  the  open  door,  the  lady,  or  the 
tiger?'  " 

When  the  high  ofBcer  had  heard  the  mission  of  this 
most  respectable  deputation,  he  led  the  five  strangers 
into  an  inner  room,  where  thej'  were  seated  upon  soft 
cushions,  and  where  he  ordered  coffee,  pipes,  sherbet, 
and  other  semi-barbaric  refreshments  to  be  served  to 
them.  Then,  taking  his  seat  before  them,  he  thus 
addressed  the  visitors : 

"Most  noble  strangers,  before  answering  the  ques- 
tion you  have  come  so  far  to  ask,  I  will  relate  to  you 
an  incident  which  occurred  not  very  long  after  that  to 
which  you  have  referred.  It  is  well  known  in  all  re- 
gions hereabouts  that  our  great  King  is  very  fond  of 
the  presence  of  beautiful  women  about  his  court.  All 
the  ladies-in-waiting  upon  the  Queen  and  Royal  Family 
are  most  lovely  maidens,  brought  here  from  every  part 
of  the  kingdom.     The  fame  of  this  concourse  of  beaut}', 


188  THE  DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY, 

unequaled  in  any  other  royal  court,  has  spread  far  and 
wide  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  equally  wide-spread 
fame  of  the  systems  of  impetuous  justice  adopted  by 
our  King,  many  foreigners  would  doubtless  have  visited 
our  court. 

*'But  not  very  long  ago  there  arrived  here  from  a 
distant  land  a  prince  of  distinguished  appearance  and 
undoubted  rank.  To  such  an  one,  of  course,  a  royal 
audience  was  granted,  and  our  King  met  him  very  gra- 
ciously, and  begged  him  to  make  known  the  object  of 
his  visit.  Thereupon  the  Prince  informed  his  Royal 
Highness  that,  having  heard  of  the  superior  beauty  of 
the  ladies  of  his  court,  he  had  come  to  ask  permission 
to  make  one  of  them  his  wife. 

''When  our  King  heard  this  bold  announcement,  his 
face  reddened,  he  turned  uneasily  on  his  throne,  and 
we  were  all  in  dread  lest  some  quick  words  of  furious 
condemnation  should  leap  from  out  his  quivering  lips. 
But  by  a  mighty  effort  he  controlled  himself  ;  and  after 
a  moment's  silence  he  turned  to  the  Prince,  and  said : 
'  Your  request  is  granted.  To-morrow  at  noon  3'ou 
shall  wed  one  of  the  fairest  damsels  of  our  court.' 
Then  turning  to  his  officers,  lio  said  :  '  Give  orders  that 
everything  be  prepared  for  a  wedding  in  this  palace  at 
high  noon  to-morrow.  Convey  this  royal  Prince  to 
suitable  apartments.  Scutl  -  !iim  tailors,  boot- makers, 
hatters,  jewelers,  armorers  ;  men  of  every  craft,  whose 
services  he  may  need.  Whatever  he  asks,  provide. 
And  let  all  be  ready  for  the  ceremony  to-morrow.' 

"  '  But,  your  Majesty,'  cxclnimed  the  Prince,  '  before 
we  make  these  preparations,  I  would  like * 


Tfli:   DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY.  189 

'"Say  no  more!'  roared  tlu-  King.  'My  royal 
orders  have  been  given,  and  nothing  more  is  needed  to 
be  said.  You  aslad  a  l)oon  ;  I  granted  it ;  and  I  will 
hear  no  more  on  the  subject.  Farewell,  my  Prince, 
until  to-morrow  noon.' 

"  At  this  the  King  arose,  and  left  the  audience 
chamber,  while  the  Prince  was  hurried  away  to  the 
apartments  selected  for  him.  And  here  came  to  him 
tailors,  hatters,  jewelers,  and  every  one  who  was 
needed  to  fit  him  out  in  grand  attire  for  the  wpdding. 
But  the  mind  of  the  Prince  was  much  troubled  and 
perplexed. 

"  '  I  do  not  understand,'  he  said  to  liis  attendants, 
'  this  precipitancy  of  action.  When  am  I  to  see  the 
ladies,  that  I  may  choose  among  them?  I  wish  oppor- 
tunit}',  not  only  to  gaze  upon  their  forms  and  faces, 
but  to  become  acquainted  with  their  relative  intellectual 
development. ' 

' ' '  We  can  tell  you  nothing, '  w  •  iL  -  ■  n  \.  cj.  '  What 
our  King  thinks  right,  that  will  he  do.  And  more 
than  this  we  know  not.' 

"  '  His  Majest3''s  notions  seem  to  be  very  peculiar,' 
said  \\w  r-'hce,  '  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  they  do  not 
at  all  agree  with  mine.' 

"  At  that  moment  an  attendant  whom  the  Prince  had 
not  noticed  before  came  and  stood  beside  him.  This 
was  a  broad-shouldered  man  of  cheery  aspect,  who 
carried,  its  hilt  in  his  right  hand,  and  its  broad  back 
resting  on  his  broad  arm,  an  enormous  scimcter,  the 
upturned  edge  of  which  was  keen  and  bright  as  any 
razor.     Holding  this  formidable  weapon  as  tenderl3'  as 


190  THE  DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY. 

though  it  had  been  a  sleeping  infant,  this  man  drew 
closer  to  the  Prince  and  bowed. 

"  '  Who  are  you? '  exclaimed  his  Highness,  starting 
back  at  the  sight  of  the  frightful  weapon. 

"'I,'  said  the  other,  with  a  courteous  smile,  'am 
the  Discourager  of  Hesitancy.  When  our  King  makes 
known  his  wishes  to  any  one,  a  subject  or  visitor, 
whose  disposition  in  some  little  points  may  be  supposed 
not  to  wholly  coincide  with  that  of  his  Majesty,  I  am 
appointed  to  attend  him  closely,  that,  should  he  think 
of  pausing  in  the  path  of  obedience  to  the  royal  will, 
he  ma}^  look  at  me,  and  proceed.' 

"  The  Prince  looked  at  him,  and  proceeded  to  be 
measured  for  a  coat. 

'*  Tiie  tailors  and  shoemakers  and  hatters  worked  all 
night ;  and  the  next  morning,  when  everything  was 
ready,  and  the  hour  of  noon  was  drawing  nigh,  the 
Prince  again  anxiously  inquired  of  his  attendants  when 
he  might  expect  to  be  introduced  to  the  ladies. 

''  '  The  King  will  attend  to  that,'  they  said.  '  We 
know  nothing  of  the  matter.' 

"  'Your  Highness,'  said  the  Discourager  of  Hesi- 
tancy, approaching  with  a  courtly  bow,  '  will  observe 
the  excellent  quality  of  this  edge.'  And  drawing  a  hair 
from  his  head,  he  dropped  it  upon  the  upturned  edge 
of  his  scimeter,  upon  which  it  was  cut  in  two  at  the 
moment  of  touching. 

"  The  rnn<><'  glanced  and  turned  upon  his  heel. 

"  rs.  A  ciimp  orticers  to  conduct  him  to  the  grand  hall 
of  the  palace,  in  wliich  the  ceremony  was  to  be  per- 
formed.    Here'   tJie  Prince  found  the  Kinii;  seated  on 


THE  DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY.  191 

the  throne,  with  his  nobles,  his  courtiers,  and  his 
officers  standing  about  liim  in  magnificent  array.  The 
Prince  was  led  to  a  position  in  front  of  the  King,  to 
whom  l\e  made  ol)eisanee,  and  then  said : 

"  '  Your  Majesty,  before  I  proceed  further ' 

"  At  this  moment  an  attendant,  who  had  approached 
with  a  long  scarf  of  delicate  silk,  wound  it  about  the 
lower  part  of  the  Prince's  face  so  quickly  and  adroitly 
that  he  was  obliged  to  cease  speaking.  Then,  with 
wonderful  dexterity,  the  rest  of  the  scarf  was  wound 
around  the  Prince's  head,  so  that  he  was  completely 
blindfolded.  Thereupon  the  attendant  quickly  made 
openings  in  the  scarf  over  the  mouth  and  ears,  so  that 
the  Prince  might  breathe  and  hear ;  an'^  fastening  the 
ends  of  the  scarf  securely,  he  retired. 

'^  The  first  impulse  of  the  Prince  was  to  snatch  the 
silken  folds  from  his  head  and  face  ;  but  as  he  raised 
his  hands  to  do  so,  he  heard  beside  him  the  voice  of 
the  Discourager  of  Hesitancy,  who  gently  whispered : 
'  I  am  here,  your  Highness.'  And,  with  a  shudder,  the 
arms  of  the  Prince  fell  down  by  his  side. 

'^  Now  before  him  he  heard  the  voice  of  a  priest, 
who  had  begun  the  marriage  service  in  use  in  that  semi- 
barbaric  country.  At  his  side  he  could  hear  a  delicate 
rustle,  which  seemed  to  proceed  from  fabrics  of  soft 
silk.  Gently  putting  forth  his  hand,  he  felt  folds  of  such 
silk  close  beside  him.  Then  came  the  voice  of  the 
priest  requesting  him  to  take  the  hand  of  the  lady  by 
his  side  ;  and  reaching  forth  his  right  hand,  the  Prince 
received  within  it  another  hand  so  small,  so  soft,  so 
delicately  fashioned,  and  so  delightful  to  the  touch, 


192  THE   DISOOURAGER   OE  HESITANCY, 

that  a  thrill  went  through  his  being.  Then,  as  was 
the  custom  of  the  country,  the  priest  first  asked  the 
lady  would  she  have  this  man  to  be  her  husband.  To 
which  the  answer  gently  came  in  the  sweetest  voice  he 
ever  heard  :  '  I  will.' 

"Then  ran  raptures  rampant  through  the  Prince's 
blood.  The  touch,  the  tone,  enchanted  him.  All  the 
ladies  of  that  court  were  beautiful ;  the  Discourager 
was  behind  hira ;  and  through  his  parted  scarf  he 
boldly  answered  :  *  Yes,  I  will.' 

''  Whereupon  the  priest  pronounced  them  man  and 
wife. 

''  Now  the  Prince  heard  a  little  bustle  about  him ; 
the  long  scarf  was  rapidly  unrolled  from  his  head  ;  and 
he  turned,  with  a  start,  to  gaze  upon  his  bride.  To  his 
utter  amazement,  there  was  no  one  there.  He  stood 
alone.  Unable  on  the  instant  to  ask  a  question  or  say 
a  word,  he  gazed  blankly  al>out  him. 

"  Then  the  King  arose  from  his  throne,  and  came 
down,  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

'' '  Where  is  my  wife?  '  gasped  the  Prince. 

"'She  is  here,'  said  the  King,  leading  him  to  a 
curtained  doorway  at  the  side  of  the  hall. 

"  The  curtains  were  drawn  aside,  and  the  Prince, 
entering,  found  himself  in  a  long  apartment,  near  the 
opposite  wall  of  which  stood  a  line  of  forty  ladies,  all 
dressed  in  rich  attire,  and  each  one  apparently  more 
beautiful  than  the  rest. 

"  Waving  his  hand  towards  the  line,  the  King  said  to 
the  Prince  :  '  There  is  your  bride  !  Approach,  and  lead 
her  forth  !     But  remember  this  :  that  if  you  attempt  to 


TEE   DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY.  193 

take  away  one  of  the  unmarried  damsels  of  our  court, 
your  execution  shall  be  instantaneous.  Now,  dola}'  no 
longer.     Stop  up  and  take  3'our  bride.' 

"  The  Prince,  as  in  a  dream,  walked  slowly  along  the 
line  of  ladies,  and  then  walked  slowly  back  again. 
Nothing  could  he  see  about  any  one  of  them  to  indicate 
that  she  was  more  of  a  bride  than  the  others.  Their 
dresses  were  all  similar ;  they  all  blushed ;  they  all 
looked  up,  and  then  looked  down.  They  all  had 
charming  little  hands.  Not  one  spoke  a  word.  Not 
one  lifted  a  finger  to  make  a  sign.  It  was  evident  that 
the  orders  given  them  had  been  ver}'  strict. 

'*  *  Why  this  delay?'  roared  the  King.  '  If  I  had 
been  married  this  day  to  one  so  fair  as  the  lady  who 
wedded  j^ou,  I  should  not  wait  one  second  to  claim 
her.* 

"  The  bewildered  Prince  walked  again  up  and  down 
the  line.  And  this  time  there  was  a  sliorht  change  in 
the  countenances  of  two  of  the  ladies.  One  of  the 
fairest  gently  smiled  as  he  passed  her.  Another,  just 
as  beautiful,  slightly  frowned. 

"  '  Now,'  said  the  Prince  to  himself,  '  I  am  sure  ih^' 
it  is  one  of  those  two  ladies  whom  I  have  married. 
But  which?  One  smiled.  And  would  not  any  woman 
smile  when  she  saw,  in  such  a  case,  her  husband  comii>^ 
towards  her?  But,  then,  were  she  not  his  bride,  woulu 
she  not  smile  with  satisfaction  to  think  he  had  not 
selected  her,  and  that  she  had  not  led  him  to  an  un- 
timely doom?  Then  again,  on  the  other  hand,  would 
not  any  woman  frown  when  she  saw  her  husband  come 
towards  her  and  fail  to  claim  her?     Would  sjio  uot  knit 


194  THE   DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY. 

Iier  lovely  brows?  And  would  she  not  inwardly  say, 
"It  is  I!  Dou't  you  know  it?  Don't  you  feel  it? 
Come!"  But  if  this  woman  had  not  been  married, 
would  she  not  frown  when  she  saw  the  man  looking 
at  her?  Would  she  not  say  to  herself,  ''  Don't  stop  at 
me !  It  is  the  next  but  one.  It  is  two  ladies  above. 
Go  on !  "  And  then  again,  the  one  who  married  me 
did  not  see  my  face.  Would  she  not  smile  if  she 
thought  me  comely  ?  While  if  I  wedded  the  one  who 
frowned,  could  she  restrain  her  disapprobation  if  she 
did  not  like  me  ?  Smiles  invite  the  approach  of  true 
love.  A  frown  is  a  reproach  to  a  tardy  advance.  A 
smile ' 

"  '  Now,  hear  me  !  *  loudly  cried  the  King.  '  In  ten 
seconds,  if  you  do  not  take  the  lady  we  have  given  you, 
she,  who  has  just  been  made  j'our  bride,  shall  be  your 
widow.' 

"  And,  as  the  last  word  was  uttered,  the  Discourager 
of  Hesitancy  stepped  close  behind  the  Prince,  and 
whispered  :  '  I  am  here  !  ' 

"Now  the  prince  could  not  hesitate  an  instant; 
and  he  stepped  forward  and  took  one  of  the  two  ladies 
by  the  hand. 

' '  Loud  rang  the  bells  ;  loud  cheered  the  people  ;  and 
the  King  came  forward  to  congratulate  the  Prince. 
He  had  taken  his  lawful  bride. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  the  high  officer  to  the  deputation 
of  five  strangers  from  a  far  country,  "When  you  can 
decide  among  yourselves  which  lady  the  Prince  chose, 
the  one  who  smiled  or  the  one  who  frowned,  then  will 


THE   DISCOURAGER   OF  HESITANCY.  195 

I  tell  you  which  came  out  of  the  opened  door,  the  lady 
or  the  tiger!  " 

At  the  latest  accounts  the  five  strangers  had  not  yet 
decided. 


A  BORROWED  MONTH. 


EAST. 

ALL  persons  who,  like  myself,  are  artists,  and  all 
others  who  delight  in  the  beauties  of  lake  and 
valley,  the  grandeur  of  snowy  mountain  peaks,  and 
the  invigoration  of  pure  mountain  air,  can  imagine  the 
joy  with  which  I  found  myself  in  Switzerland  on  a 
sketching  tour.  It  had  not  been  easy  for  me  to  make 
this,  my  first  visit  to  Europe.  Circumstances,  which 
the  very  slightly  opened  purses  of  my  patrons  had  not 
enabled  me  to  control,  had  deferred  it  for  several  years. 
And  even  now  my  stay  was  strictly  limited,  and  I  must 
return  by  a  steamer  which  sailed  for  America  early  in 
the  autumn.  But  I  had  already  traveled  a  good  deal 
on  the  Continent ;  had  seen  Italy ;  and  now  had  six 
summer  weeks  to  give  to  Switzerland.  Six  months 
would  have  suited  me  much  better,  but  youth  and  en- 
thusiasm can  do  a  great  deal  of  sketching  and  nature- 
reveling  in  six  weeks. 

I  began  what  I  called  my  Alpine  holidays  in  a  little 
town  not  far  from  the  upper  end  of  Lake  Geneva,  and 
at   the   close   of   my   second    day   of    rambling   and 

196 


A   BORROWED  MONTH,  197 

sketching  I  was  attacked  by  a  very  disagreeable  and 
annoying  pain  in  my  left  leg.  It  did  not  result,  so  far 
as  I  could  ascertain,  from  a  sprain,  a  bruise,  or  a  break, 
but  seemed  to  be  occasioned  by  a  sort  of  tantalizing 
rheumatism ;  for  while  it  entirely  disappeared  when  I 
remained  at  rest,  its  twinges  began  as  soon  as  I  had 
taken  half-a-dozen  steps  in  walking.  The  next  day  I 
consulted  a  doctor,  and  he  gave  me  a  lotion.  This, 
however,  was  of  no  service,  and  for  three  or  four  days 
he  made  use  of  other  remedies,  none  of  which  were  of 
the  slightest  benefit  to  me. 

But,  although  I  was  confined  to  the  house  during  this 
period,  I  did  not  lose  mj^  time.  From  the  windows  of 
my  room  in  the  hotel  I  had  a  series  of  the  most  enchant- 
ing views,  which  I  sketched  from  early  morning  until 
twilight,  with  an  earnest  and  almost  ecstatic  zeal.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  lake  rose,  ten  thousand  feet  in  the 
air,  the  great  Dent  du  Midi,  with  its  seven  peaks  clear 
and  sharp  against  the  sky,  surrounded  by  its  sister 
mountains,  most  of  them  dark  of  base  and  white  of  tip. 
To  the  east  stretched  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Rhone, 
up  which  the  view  extended  to  the  pale-blue  pyramid 
of  Mont  Velan.  Curving  northward  around  the  end  of 
the  lake  was  a  range  of  lower  mountains,  rocky  or  ver- 
dant ;  while  at  their  base,  glistening  in  the  sun,  lay 
the  blue  lake  reflecting  the  white  clouds  in  the  sky,  and 
dotted  here  and  there  with  little  vessels,  their  lateen- 
sails  spread  out  like  the  wings  of  a  descending  bird. 

I  sketched  and  painted  the  lake  and  mountains,  by 
the  light  of  morning,  in  their  noontide  splendors,  and 
when  all  lay  in  shadow  except  where  the  highest  snowy 


198  A  BORROWED  MONTH, 

peaks  were  tipped  with  the  ros}-  afterglow.  My  ail- 
ment gave  me  no  trouble  at  all  so  long  as  I  sat  still  and 
painted,  and  in  the  wonderful  opportunity  afforded  by 
nature  to  my  art  I  forgot  all  about  it. 

But  in  the  course  of  a  week  I  began  to  get  very  im- 
patient. There  was  a  vast  deal  more  of  Switzerland 
to  be  seen  and  sketched ;  my  time  was  growing  short, 
and  the  pain  occasioned  by  walking  had  not  abated  in 
the  least.  I  felt  that  I  must  have  other  views  than 
those  which  were  visible  from  my  window,  and  I  had 
myself  driven  to  various  points  accessible  to  vehicles, 
from  which  I  made  some  very  satisfactory  sketches. 
But  this  was  not  roaming  in  Alpine  valleys  and  climb- 
ing mountain  peaks.  It  was  only  a  small  part  of  what 
brought  me  to  Switzerland,  and  my  soul  rebelled. 
Could  any  worse  fate  befall  a  poor  young  artist,  who 
had  struggled  so  hard  to  get  over  here,  than  to  be  thus 
chained  and  trammeled  in  the  midst  of  the  grandest 
opportunities  his  art  life  had  yet  known  ? 

My  physician  gave  me  but  little  comfort.  He  as- 
sured me  that  if  I  used  his  remedies  and  had  patience, 
there  would  be  no  doubt  of  my  recovery ;  but  that  it 
would  take  time.  When  I  eagerly  asked  how  much 
time  would  be  required,  he  replied  that  it  would  prob- 
ably be  some  weeks  before  I  was  entirely  well,  for 
these  disorders  generally  wore  off  quite  gradually. 

'*  Some  weeks!"  I  ejaculated  when  he  had  gone. 
''  And  I  have  barely  a  month  left  for  Switzerland !  " 

This  state  of  affairs  not  only  depressed  me,  but  it 
disheartened  me.  I  might  have  gone  by  rail  to  other 
parts  of  Switzerland,  and  made  other  sketches  from 


A   BORROWED   MONTH.  199 

hotels  and  carriages,  but  this  I  did  not  care  to  do.  If 
I  must  still  caiTy  about  with  me  my  figurative  ball  and 
chain,  I  did  not  wish  to  go  where  new  temptations 
would  beckon  and  call  and  scream  to  me  from  every 
side.  Better  to  remain  where  I  was ;  where  I  could 
more  easily  become  used  to  my  galling  restraints. 
This  was  morbid  reasoning,  but  I  had  become  morbid 
in  body  and  mind. 

One  evening  I  went  in  the  hotel  omnibus  to  the 
Kursaal  of  the  little  town  where  I  was  staying.  In  this 
building,  to  which  visitors  from  the  hotels  and  pensions 
of  the  vicinity  went  in  considerable  numbers  every 
afternoon  and  evening,  for  the  reason  that  they  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  the  usual  concert  was  going  on  in 
the  theater.  In  a  small  room  adjoining,  a  companj-  of 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  the  latter  chiefly  English  or  Rus- 
sian, were  making  bets  on  small  metal  horses  and 
jockeys  which  spun  round  on  circular  tracks,  and  ran 
races  which  were  fairer  to  the  betters  than  the  majority 
of  those  in  which  flesh-and-blood  animals,  human  and 
equine,  take  part.  Opening  from  this  apartment  was 
a  large  refreshment-room,  in  which  I  took  my  scat. 
Here  I  could  smoke  a  cigar  and  listen  to  the  music, 
and  perhaps  forget  for  a  time  the  doleful  world  in  which 
I  lived.  I  had  not  been  long  seated  before  I  was 
joined  by  a  man  whom  I  had  met  before,  and  in  whom 
I  had  taken  some  interest.  He  was  a  little  man  with 
a  big  head,  on  which  he  occasionally  wore  a  high- 
crowned  black  straw  hat ;  but  whenever  the  sun  did 
not  make  it  absolutely  necessary  he  carried  this  in  his 
hand.     His  clothes  were  black  and  of  very  thin  ma- 


200  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

terial,  and  he  always  had  the  appearance  of  being  too 
warm.  In  my  occasional  interviews  with  him  I  had 
discovered  that  he  was  a  reformer,  and  that  his  yearn- 
ings in  the  direction  of  human  improvement  were  very 
general  and  inclusive. 

This  individual  sat  down  at  my  little  table  and 
ordered  a  glass  of  beer. 

'^You  do  not  look  happy/*  he  said.  "Have  you 
spoiled  a  picture?  " 

"No,"  I  replied,  "but  a  picture  has  been  spoiled 
for  me."  And,  as  he  did  not  understand  this  reply,  I 
explained  to  him  how  the  artistic  paradise  which  I  had 
mentally  painted  for  myself  had  been  scraped  from  the 
canvas  by  the  knife  of  my  malicious  ailment. 

"I  have  been  noticing,"  he  said,  —  he  spoke  very 
fair  English,  but  it  was  not  his  native  tongue,  —  "  that 
you  have  not  walked.  It  is  a  grand  pity."  And  he 
stroked  his  beard  and  looked  at  me  steadfastly.  "  An 
artist  who  is  young  is  free,"  he  said,  after  some  mo- 
ments' reflection.  "He  is  not  obliged  to  carry  the 
load  of  a  method  which  has  grown  upon  him  like  the 
goitre  of  one  of  these  people  whom  you  meet  here. 
He  can  despise  methods  and  be  himself.  You  have 
everything  in  art  before  you,  and  it  is  not  right  that 
you  should  be  held  to  the  ground  like  a  serpent  in  3'our 
own  country,  with  a  forked  stick.  You  have  some 
friends,  perhaps?" 

I  replied,  a  little  surprised,  that  I  had  a  great  many 
friends  in  America. 

"  It  is  of  no  import  where  they  are,"  he  said.  And 
then  he  again  regarded  me  in  silence.  "  Have  yor  a 
good  faith  ?  ' '  he  presently  asked. 


A   BORROWED   MONTH.  201 

**In  what?"  said  I. 

"In  anything.     Yourself,  principally.'* 

I  replied  that  just  now  I  had  very  little  faith  of  that 
sort. 

His  face  clouded  ;  he  frowned,  and,  pushing  away  his 
empty  glass,  he  rose  from  the  table.  "You  are  a 
skeptic,"  he  said,  "  and  an  infidel  of  the  worst  sort." 

In  my  apathetic  state  this  remark  did  not  annoy  me. 
"  No  man  would  be  a  skeptic,"  I  said  carelessly,  "if 
other  people  did  not  persist  in  disagreeing  with  him." 

But  my  companion  paid  no  attention  to  me.  and 
walked  away  before  I  had  finished  speaking.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  came  back,  and,  leaning  over  the  table,  he 
said  in  low  but  excited  tones  :  "  It  is  to  yourself  that 
you  are  an  infidel.  That  is  very  wrong.  It  is  degrad- 
ing." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all,"  I  said.  "  "Won't 
you  sit  down  and  tell  me  what  you  mean?  " 

He  seated  himself,  and  wiped  liis  forehead  with  his 
handkerchief.  Then  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me,  and 
said :  "  It  is  not  to  everybody  I  would  speak  as  I  now 
speak  to  you.  You  must  believe  something.  Do  you 
not  believe  in  the  outstretching  power  of  the  mmd  ;  of 
the  soul?" 

My  ideas  in  this  regard  were  somewhat  chaotic.  I 
did  not  know  what  was  his  exact  meaning,  but  I 
thought  it  best  to  say  that  it  was  likely  that  some  souls 
could  outstretch. 

"And  do  3'ou  not  believe,"  he  continued,  "that 
when  your  friend  sleeps,  and  your  thoughts  are  fixed 
upon  him,  and  your  whole  soul  goes  out  to  him  in  its 


202  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

most  utter  force  and  strength,  that  your  mind  becomes 
his  mind?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  ''That  is  going  rather  far,*'  I 
said. 

"It  is  not  far,"  he  exclaimed  emphatically.  "It 
is  but  a  little  way.  We  shall  go  much  farther  than 
that  when  we  know  more.  And  is  it  that  you  doubt 
that  the  mind  is  in  the  brain  ?  And  where  is  pain  ?  Is 
it  in  the  foot?  In  the  arm?  It  is  not  so.  It  is  in 
the  brain.  If  you  cut  off  your  wounded  foot,  you  have 
the  pain  all  the  same ;  the  brain  remains.  I  will  say 
this  to  you.  If  it  were  I  who  had  soul-friends,  it  would 
not  be  that  every  day  I  should  shut  the  door  on  m}'  art. 
Once  it  happened  that  I  suffered  —  not  like  you,  much 
worse.  But  I  did  not  suffer  every  day.  No,  no,  my 
friend,  not  every  day.  But  that  was  I ;  I  have  faith. 
But  I  need  speak  no  more  to  you.  You  are  infidel. 
You  do  not  believe  in  yourself." 

And  with  this  he  suddenly  pushed  back  his  chair, 
picked  up  his  black  straw  hat  from  the  floor,  and  walked 
out  of  the  room,  wiping  his  forehead  as  he  went.  I  am 
not  given  to  sudden  reciprocations  of  sentiment,  but 
what  this  man  had  said  made  a  strong  impression 
upon  me.  Not  that  I  had  any  confidence  in  the  value 
of  his  psychological  ideas,  but  his  words  suggested  a 
train  of  thought  which  kept  me  awake  a  long  time  after 
I  had  gone  to  bed  that  night ;  and  gradually  I  began  to 
consider  the  wonderful  advantage  and  help  it  would  be 
to  me  if  it  were  possible  that  a  friend  could  bear  my 
infirmity  even  for  a  day.  It  would  inconvenience  him 
but  little.     If  he  remained  at  rest  he  would  feel  no  pain, 


A   BORROWED  MONTH.  203 

and  he  might  be  very  glad  to  be  obliged  to  take  a  quiet 
holiday  with  his  books  or  family.  And  what  a  joy 
would  that  holiday  be  to  me  among  the  Alps,  and  re- 
lieved of  my  fetters  !  The  notion  grew.  One  day  one 
friend  might  take  up  my  burden,  and  the  next  another. 
How  little  this  would  be  for  them  ;  hew  much  for  me ! 
If  I  should  select  thirty  friends,  they  could,  by  each 
taking  a  day  of  pleasant  rest,  make  me  free  to  enjoy  to 
the  utmost  the  month  which  yet  remained  for  Switzer- 
land. M}^  mind  continued  to  dwell  on  this  pleasing 
fancy,  and  I  went  to  sleep  while  counting  on  my  fingers 
the  number  of  friends  I  had  who  would  each  be  per- 
fectly willing  to  bear  for  a  day  the  infirmity  which  was 
so  disastrous  to  me,  but  which  would  be  of  such  trifling 
importance  to  them. 

I  woke  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  my  thoughts 
immediately  recurred  to  the  subject  of  my  ailment  and 
my  friends.  What  a  pity  it  was  that  such  an  advan- 
tageous arrangement  should  be  merely  whim  and  fancy  ! 
But  if  my  companion  of  the  night  before  were  here,  he 
would  tell  me  that  there  was  no  impossibility,  only  a 
want  of  faith  —  faith  in  the  power  of  mind  over  mind, 
of  mind  over  body,  and,  primarily,  of  faith  in  my  own 
mind  and  will.  I  smiled  as  I  thought  of  what  might 
happen  if  his  ideas  were  based  on  truth.  There  was 
my  friend  Will  Troy.  How  gladly  would  he  spend  a 
day  at  home  in  his  easy-chair,  smoking  his  pipe  and  for- 
getting, over  a  novel,  that  there  were  such  things  as  led- 
gers, day-books,  and  columns  of  figures,  while  I  strode 
gayly  over  the  mountain  sides.  If  Troy  had  any  option 
in  the  matter,  he  would  not  hesitate  for  a  moment ; 


204  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

and,  knowing  this,  I  would  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  in 
making  the  little  arrangement,  if  it  could  be  made. 
If  belief  in  myself  could  do  it,  it  would  be  done  ;  and  I 
began  to  wonder  if  it  were  possible,  in  any  case,  for  a 
man  to  believe  in  himself  to  such  an  extent. 

Suddenly  I  determined  to  tr}-.  ''  It  is  early  morning 
here,"  I  said  to  myself,  "and  in  America  it  must  be 
about  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  Will  Troy  is  probably 
sound  asleep.  Let  me  then  determine,  with  all  the 
energy  of  my  mental  powers,  that  m}'  mind  shall  be  his 
mind,  and  that  he  shall  understand  thoroughly  that  he 
has  some  sort  of  trouble  in  his  left  leg  which  will  not 
inconvenience  him  at  all  if  he  allows  it  to  rest,  but 
which  will  hurt  him  very  much  if  he  attempts  to  walk 
about.  Then  I  will  make  up  my  mind,  quite  decidedl}^ 
that  for  a  day  it  shall  be  Will  who  will  be  subject  to 
this  pain,  and  not  I." 

For  half  an  hour  I  lay  flat  on  my  back,  my  lips  firmly 
pressed  together,  my  hands  clinched,  and  my  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  immutable  peaks  of  the  Dent  du  Midi,  which 
were  clearly  visible  through  the  window  at  the  foot  of 
my  bed.  My  position  seemed  to  be  the  natural  one 
for  a  man  bending  all  the  energies  of  his  mind  on  a 
determinate  purpose.  The  great  mountain  stood  up 
before  me  as  an  example  of  the  steadfast  and  immova- 
ble. "  Now,"  said  I  to  myself,  over  and  over  again, 
"  Will  Troy,  it  is  you  who  are  subject  to  this  trouble. 
You  will  know  exactly  what  it  is,  because  yon  will  feel 
it  through  m}'  mind.  I  am  free  from  it ;  I  will  that, 
and  it  shall  be  so.  My  mind  has  power  over  youY  mind, 
because  yours   is   asleep   and  passive,   while  mine  is 


A   BORROWED   MONTH.  205 

awake  and  vei-y,  very  active.  When  I  get  out  of  bed  I 
shall  be  as  entirely  free  from  pain  and  difficulty  in 
walking  as  you  would  have  been  if  I  had  not  passed 
my  condition  over  to  j'ou  for  one  short  day."  And  I 
repeated  again  and  again:  "For  one  day;  only  for 
one  day." 

The  most  difficult  part  of  the  process  was  the  mental 
operation  of  believing  all  this.  If  I  did  not  believe  it, 
of  course,  it  would  come  to  nothing.  Fixing  m}'  mind 
steadfastly  upon  this  subject,  I  believed  with  all  m}^ 
might.  When  I  had  believed  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes, 
I  felt  sure  that  my  faith  in  the  power  of  my  mind  was 
well  grounded  and  fixed.  A  man  who  has  truly  be- 
lieved for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  may  be  considered  to 
have  embraced  a  faith. 

And  now  came  the  supreme  moment,  and  when  I 
arose  should  I  be  perfectly  well  and  strong?  The  in- 
stant this  question  came  into  my  mind  I  dismissed  it. 
I  would  have  no  doubt  whatever  on  the  subject.  I 
would  know  that  I  should  be  what  I  willed  I  should  be. 
With  my  mind  and  my  teeth  firmly  set,  I  got  out  of  bed, 
I  walked  boldly  to  the  window,  I  moved  about  the 
room,  I  dressed  myself.  I  made  no  experiments  ;  I 
would  scorn  to  do  so.  Experiments  imply  doubt.  I 
believed.  I  went  down  several  flights  of  stairs  to  my 
breakfast.  I  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  long  scdle- 
(X-manger,  and  sat  down  at  the  table  without  having 
felt  a  twinge  of  pain  or  the  least  discomfort. 

"Monsieur  is  better  this  morning,"  said  the  head- 
waiter,  with  a  kindly  smile. 

"  Better,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  well." 


206     ■  A  BORROWED   MONTH. 

When  I  returned  that  evening  after  a  day  of  intoxi- 
cating delight,  during  which  I  had  climbed  man}^  a 
mountain  path,  had  stood  on  bUiffs  and  peaks,  had 
gazed  over  lake  and  valley,  and  had  breathed  to  the 
full  the  invigorating  upper  air,  I  stood  upon  the  edge 
of  the  lake,  just  before  reaching  the  hotel,  and  stretched 
forth  my  hands  to  the  west. 

"I  thank  you.  Will  Troy,"  I  said,  ''from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  this  day  ;  and  if  I 
ever  see  my  way  to  repay  you,  I  will  do  it,  my  boy. 
You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

I  now  resolved  to  quit  this  place  instantl3^  I  had 
been  here  too  long ;  and  before  me  was  spread  out  in 
shadowy  fascination  the  whole  of  Switzerland.  I  took 
a  night-train  for  Berne,  where  I  arrived  early  the  next 
day.  But  before  I  descended  from  the  railway  car- 
riage, where  I  had  managed  to  slumber  for  part  of  the 
night,  I  had  determiuately  willed  an  interchange  of 
physical  condition  with  another  friend  in  i^.merica. 
During  the  previous  day  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  should  be  false  to  myself  and  to  my  fortunes  if  I 
gave  up  this  grand  opportunity  for  study  and  artistic 
development,  and  1  would  call  upon  my  friends  to 
give  me  these  precious  holidays,  of  which,  but  a  little 
while  ago,  I  believed  myself  forever  deprived.  I  be- 
longed to  a  club  of  artists,  most  of  whom  were  young 
and  vigorous  fellows,  any  one  of  whom  would  be  glad 
to  do  me  a  service ;  and  although  I  desired  on  special 
occasions  to  interchange  with  particular  friends,  I 
determined  that  during  the  rest  of  my  holiday  I  would, 
for  the  most  part,  exchange  physical  conditions  with 
these  young  men,  giving  a  day  to  each. 


A    BORROWED   MONTH.  207 

The  next  week  was  a  perfect  success.  As  Martyn, 
Jeffries,  Williams,  Corbell,  Field,  Booker,  and  Gra- 
ham, I  walked,  climbed,  sketched,  and,  when  nobody 
was  near,  shouted  with  delight.  I  took  Williams  for 
Sunday,  because  I  knew  he  never  sketched  on  that  day, 
although  he  was  not  averse  to  the  longest  kind  of  rural 
ramble.  I  shall  not  detail  m}'  route.  The  Bernese  Ober- 
laud,  the  region  of  Lake  Lucerne,  the  Engadine,  and 
other  earthly  heavens  opened  their  doors  to  my  joyous 
anticipations,  provided  always  that  this  system  of 
physical  exchange  continued  to  work. 

The  Monday  after  Williams's  Sunday  I  appropriated 
to  a  long  tramp  which  should  begin  with  a  view  of  the 
sunrise  from  a  mountain  height,  and  which  necessitated 
my  starting  in  the  morning  before  daylight.  For  such 
an  excursion  I  needed  all  the  strength  and  endurance 
of  which  I  could  possess  myself,  and  I  did  not  hesitate 
as  to  the  exchange  I  should  make  for  that  long  day's 
work.  Chester  Parkman  was  the  man  for  me.  Park-' 
man  was  a  fairly  good  artist,  but  the  sphere  in  which 
he  shone  was  that  of  the  athlete.  He  was  not  very  tall, 
but  he  was  broad  and  well  made,  with  a  cliest  and 
muscles  which  to  some  of  his  friends  appeared  to  be  in 
an  impertinent  condition  of  perfect  development.  He 
was  a  handsome  fellow,  too,  with  his  well-browned 
face,  his  fine  white  teeth,  and  his  black  hair  and  beard, 
which  seemed  to  curl  because  the  strength  which  they 
imbibed  from  him  made  it  necessary  to  do  something, 
and  curling  is  all  that  hair  can  do.  On  some  occasions 
it  pleased  me  to  think  that  when  by  the  power  of  my 
will  my  physical  incapacity  was  transferred  for  a  time 


208  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

to  a  friend,  I,  in  tnrn,  found  myself  in  his  peculiar 
bodily  condition,  whatever  it  might  be.  And  whether 
I  was  mistaken  or  not,  and  whether  this  phase  of  my 
borrowed  condition  was  real  or  imaginary,  it  is  certain 
that  when  I  started  out  before  dawn  that  Monday 
morning  1  strode  away  with  vigorous  Parkmanic  legs, 
and  inhaled  the  cool  air  into  what  seemed  to  be  a  deep 
Parkmanic  chest.  I  took  a  guide  that  day,  and  when 
we  returned,  some  time  after  nightfall,  I  could  see  that 
he  was  tired,  and  he  admitted  the  fact ;  but  as  for  me, 
I  ate  a  good  supper,  and  then  walked  a  mile  and  a  half 
to  sketch  a  moonlight  effect  on  a  lake.  I  will  here 
remark  that,  out  of  justice  to  Parkman,  I  rubbed  my- 
self down  and  polished  myself  off  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  ability  before  I  went  to  bed. 

When,  as  usual,  1  awoke  early  the  next  morning,  I 
lay  for  some  time  thinking.  It  had  been  mj'  intention 
to  spend  that  day  in  a  boat  on  the  lake,  and  I  had 
decided  to  direct  my  will-power  upon  Tom  Latham,  a 
young  collegian  of  my  acquaintance.  Tom  was  an  en- 
thusiastic oarsman,  and  could  pull  with  such  strength 
that  if  he  were  driving  a  horse  he  could  almost  haul 
the  animal  back  into  the  vehicle,  but  if  a  stout  boy 
were  to  be  pushed  off  a  horse-block  Tom  could  not  do 
it.  Tom's  uuequall}'  developed  muscles  were  just 
what  I  wanted  that  day  ;  but  before  I  threw  out  my 
mind  in  his  direction  I  let  it  dwell  in  pleasant  recollec- 
tion upon  the  glorious  day  I  had  had  with  Chester 
Parkman' s  corporeal  attributes.  Thinking  of  Chester, 
I  began  to  think  of  some  one  else  —  one  on  whom  my 
thoughts  had  rested  with  more  pleasure  and  more  pain 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  209 

than  on  any  other  person  in  the  world.  That  this  was 
a  woman  I  need  not  say.  She  was  young,  she  was  an 
artist,  and  a  very  good  friend  of  mine.  For  a  long 
time  I  had  yearned  with  all  my  heart  to  be  able  to  say 
that  she  was  more  than  this.  But  so  far  I  could  not 
say  it.  Since  I  had  been  in  Europe  I  had  told  m3^self 
over  and  over  that  in  coming  away  without  telling 
Kate  Balthis  that  I  loved  her  I  made  the  greatest 
mistake  of  my  life.  I  had  intended  to  do  this,  but 
opportunity  had  not  offered.  I  should  have  made 
opportunity. 

The  reason  that  the  thought  of  Chester  Parkman 
made  me  think  of  Kate  was  the  fact  that  they  occupied 
studios  in  the  same  building,  and  that  he  was  a  great 
admirer  not  only  of  her  work,  but  of  herself.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  the  existence  of  Parkman,  I  should  not 
have  blamed  m3'self  quite  so  much  for  not  proposing  to 
Kate  before  I  left  America.  But  I  consoled  m3^self  by 
reflecting  that  the  man  was  so  intent  upon  the  develop- 
ment of  his  lungs  that  his  heart,  to  put  it  anatomically, 
was  obliged  to  take  a  minor  place  in  his  consideration. 

Thinking  thus,  a  queer  notion  came  mto  my  head. 
Suppose  that  Kate  were  to  bear  m}'  troubles  for  a  day ! 
What  friend  had  I  who  would  be  more  willmg  to  serve 
me  than  she?  And  what  friend  from  whom  I  would 
be  more  delighted  to  receive  a  favor?  But  the  next 
instant  the  contemptibleness  of  this  idea  flashed  across 
my  mind,  and  I  gritted  my  teeth  as  I  thought  what  a 
despicable  thing  it  would  be  to  deprive  that  dear  girl 
of  her  strength  and  activity,  even  for  a  day.  It  wae 
true,  as  I  honestly  told  myself,  that  it  was  the  joy  anof 


210  A   BORROWED   MONTH. 

charm  of  being  beholden  to  her,  and  not  the  benefit  to 
m3'self ,  that  made  me  think  of  this  thing.  But  it  was 
despicable,  all  the  same,  and  I  utterly  scouted  it. 
And  so,  forgetting  as  far  as  possible  that  there  was 
such  a  person  in  the  world  as  Kate,  I  threw  out  my 
mind,  as  I  originally  intended,  towards  Tom  Latham, 
the  oarsman. 

I  spent  that  day  on  the  lake.  If  I  had  been  able  to 
imagine  that  I  could  walk  as  far  as  Chester  Parkman, 
I  failed  to  bring  myself  to  believe  that  I  could  row  like 
young  Latham.  I  got  on  well  enough,  but  rowed  no 
better  than  I  had  often  done  at  home,  and  I  was  soon 
sorry  that  I  had  not  brought  a  man  with  me  to  take  the 
oars,  of  which  I  had  tired. 

Among  those  I  called  upon  in  the  next  few  days  was 
Professor  Dynard,  a  man  who  was  not  exactly  a  friend, 
but  with  whom  I  was  very  well  acquainted.  He  was  a 
scientific  man,  a  writer  of  books,  and  an  enthusiastic 
lover  of  nature.  He  was  middle-aged  and  stooped  a 
little,  but  his  legs  were  long,  and  he  was  an  unwearied 
walker.  Towards  the  end  of  the  very  pleasant  day 
which  I  owed  to  my  acquaintance  with  him,  I  could  not 
help  smiling  to  find  that  I  had  thought  so  much  of  the 
professor  during  my  rambles  that  I  had  unconsciously 
adopted  the  stoop  of  his  shoulder  and  his  ungainly  but 
regular  stride. 

The  half-starved  man  to  whom  food  is  given  eats  too 
much  ;  the  child,  released  from  long  hours  of  school, 
runs  wild,  and  is  apt  to  make  himself  objectionable  ; 
and  I,  rising  from  my  condition  of  what  I  had  consid- 
ered hopeless  inactivity  to  the  fullest  vigor  of  body  and 


A   BORROWED   MONTH  211 

limb,  began  to  perceive  that  I  had  walked  too  much 
and  worked  too  little.  The  pleasure  of  being  able  to 
ramble  and  scramble  wherever  I  pleased  had  made  me 
forget  that  I  was  in  Switzerland  not  only  for  enjo}'- 
meut,  but  for  improvement.  Of  course  I  had  to  walk 
and  climb  to  find  points  of  view,  but  the  pleasure  of 
getting  to  such  places  was  so  great  that  it  overshad- 
owed my  interest  in  sitting  down  and  going  to  work 
after  I  had  reached  them.  The  man  who  sketches  as 
he  walks  and  climbs  is  an  extraordinary  artist,  and  I 
was  not  such  a  one. 

It  was  while  I  was  in  the  picturesque  regions  of  the 
Engadine  that  these  reflections  forced  themselves  upon 
me,  and  I  determined  to  live  less  for  mere  enjoyment 
and  more  for  earnest  work.  But  not  for  a  minute  did 
I  think  of  giving  up  my  precious  system  of  corporeal 
exchange.  I  had  had  enough  of  sitting  in  my  room 
and  sketching  from  the  window.  If  I  had  consented 
to  allow  myself  to  relapse  into  my  former  condition,  I 
feared  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  regain  that  firm  be- 
lief in  the  power  of  my  mental  propulsion  which  had 
so  far  enabled  my  friends  to  serve  me  so  well,  with  such 
brief  inconvenience  to  themselves.  No.  I  would  con- 
tinue to  transfer  my  physical  incapacity,  but  I  would 
use  more  conscientiously  and  earnestly  the  opportuni- 
ties which  I  thus  obtained. 

Soon  after  I  came  to  this  determination,  I  established 
myself  at  a  little  hotel  on  a  mountain -side,  where  I  de- 
cided to  stay  for  a  week  or  more  and  do  some  good 
hard  work  ;  I  was  surrounded  by  grand  and  beautiful 
scenery,  and  it  was  far  better  for  my  progress  in  art  to 


212  A  BCRROWED  MONTH. 

stay  here  and  do  something  substantial  than  to  wander 
about  in  search  of  fresh  delights.  As  an  appropriate 
beginning  to  this  industrious  period,  I  made  an  exchange 
with  ni}^  friend  Bufford,  one  of  the  hardest- working 
painters  I  knew.  His  industry  as  well  as  his  genius 
had  brought  him,  when  he  had  barely  reached  middle 
life,  to  a  high  position  in  art,  and  it  pleased  me  to  think 
that  I  might  find  myself  influenced  by  some  of  his  men- 
tal characteristics  as  well  as  those  of  a  physical  nature. 
At  any  rate,  I  tried  hard  to  think  so,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  did  not  paint  better  on  the  Bufford  day  than 
on  an}^  other.  If  it  had  not  been  that  I  had  positively 
determined  that  I  would  not  impose  my  ailment  upon 
any  one  of  m}'  friends  for  more  thau  one  day,  I  would 
have  taken  Bufford  for  a  week. 

There  were  a  good  many  people  staying  at  the  hotel, 
and  among  them  was  a  very  pretty  English  girl,  with 
whom  I  soon  became  acquainted  ;  for  she  was  an  en- 
thusiastic amateur  artist,  and  was  engaged  in  painting 
the  same  view  at  which  I  had  chosen  to  work.  Every 
morning  she  used  to  go  some  distance  up  the  mountain- 
side, accompanied  by  her  brother  Dick,  a  tall,  gawky 
boy  of  about  eighteen,  who  was  considered  to  be  a 
suitable  and  sufficient  escort,  but  who  was  in  reality  a 
very  poor  one,  for  no  sooner  was  his  sister  comfortably 
seated  at  her  work  than  he  left  her  and  rambled  away 
for  hours.  If  it  had  not  been  for  me  I  think  she  would 
sometimes  have  been  entirely  too  lonely  and  unpro- 
tected. Dick's  appetite  would  generally  bring  him 
back  in  time  to  carry  down  her  camp-chair  and  color- 
box  when  we  returned  to  dinner;  and  as  she  never 


A  BORROWED   MONTH.  213 

complained  of  his  defections,  I  suppose  her  mother 
knew  nothing  about  them.  This  lady  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant person,  a  little  too  heavy  in  body  and  a  little  too 
large  in  cap  for  my  taste,  but  hearty  and  genial,  and 
very  anxious  to  know  something  about  America,  where 
her  oldest  son  was  established  on  a  Texas  ranch.  She 
and  her  daughter  and  myself  used  to  talk  a  good  deal 
together  in  the  evenings,  and  this  intimac}'  made  me 
feel  quite  justified  in  talking  a  good  deal  to  the  daughter 
in  the  mornings  as  we  were  working  together  on  the 
mountain-side.  The  first  thing  that  made  me  take  an 
interest  in  this  girl  was  the  fact  that  she  considered  me 
her  superior,  and  looked  up  to  me.  I  could  paint  a 
great  deal  better  than  she  could,  and  could  info  inn  her 
on  a  lot  of  points,  and  I  was  always  glad  to  render  her 
such  service.  She  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  —  the  pretti- 
est English  girl  I  ever  saw,  —  with  large,  gray-blue 
eyes,  which  had  a  trustfulness  about  them  which  I  liked 
very  much.  She  evidently  had  a  very  good  opinion  of 
me  as  an  artist,  and  paid  as  much  earnest  and  thought- 
ful attention  to  what  I  said  about  her  work  a^  if  she 
had  really  been  the  scholar  and  I  the  master.  I  tried 
not  to  bore  her  by  too  much  technical  conversation,  and 
endeavored  to  make  myself  as  agreeable  a  companion 
as  I  could.  I  found  that  fellowship  of  some  kind  was 
very  necessary  to  a  man  so  far  away  from  home,  and 
so  cut  off  from  social  influences. 

Day  after  day  we  spent  our  mornings  together, 
sketching  and  talking ;  and  as  for  Dick,  he  was  the 
most  interesting  brother  I  ever  knew.  He  had  a  great 
desire  to  discover  something  hitherto  unknown  in  the 


214  A   BORROWED  MONTH. 

heights  above  our  place  of  sketching.  Finding  that 
he  could  depend  on  me  as  a  protector  for  his  sister,  he 
gave  us  very  little  of  his  company.  Even  when  we 
were  not  together  I  could  not  help  thinking  a  great  deal 
about  this  charming  girl.  Our  talks  about  her  country 
had  made  me  remember  with  pride  the  English  blood 
that  was  in  me,  and  revived  the  desire  I  had  often  felt 
to  live  for  a  time,  at  least,  in  rural  England,  that  land 
of  loveliness  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind.  And  London 
too  !  I  had  artist  friends,  Americans,  who  lived  in  Lon- 
don, and  such  were  their  opportunities,  such  the  art 
atmosphere  and  society,  that  they  expected  to  live 
there  always.  If  a  fellow  really  wished  to  succeed  as 
an  artist,  some  years'  residence  in  England,  with  an 
occasional  trip  to  the  Continent,  would  be  a  great  thing 
for  him.  And,  in  such  a  case  —  well,  it  was  a  mere 
idle  thought.  If  I  had  been  an  engaged  man,  I  would 
not  have  allowed  mj'self  even  such  idle  thoughts.  But 
1  was  not  engaged  ;  and  alas  !  I  thought  with  a  sigh,  I 
might  never  be.  I  thought  of  Parkman  and  of  Kate, 
and  how  they  must  constantly  see  each  other ;  and  I 
remembered  my  stupid  silence  when  leaving  America. 
How  could  I  tell  what  had  happened  since  my  depart- 
ure? I  did  not  like  to  think  of  all  this,  and  tried  to 
feel  resigned.  The  world  was  very  wide.  There  was 
that  P^nglish  brother,  over  on  the  Texas  ranch ;  he 
might  marry  an  American  girl ;  and  here  was  his  sister 
—  well,  this  was  all  the  merest  nonsense,  and  I  would 
not  admit  to  myself  that  I  attached  the  slightest  im- 
portance to  these  vague  and  fragmentary  notions  which 
floated  thiough  my  mind.     But  the  girl  had  most  lovely, 


A   BORROWED   MONTH.  215 

trustful  eyes,  and  I  felt  that  a  sympathy  had  grown  up 
between  us  which  must  not  be  rudely  jarred. 

We  had  finished  our  work  at  the  old  sketching-place, 
and  we  proposed  on  the  morrow  to  go  to  a  higher  part 
of  the  mountain,  and  make  some  sketches  of  a  more 
extended  nature  than  we  had  yet  tried.  This  excursion 
would  require  a  good  part  of  the  day,  but  we  would 
take  along  a  luncheon  for  three,  and  no  doubt  nothing 
would  please  Dick  better  than  such  a  trip.  The  mother 
agreed,  if  Dick  could  be  made  to  promise  that  he  would 
take  his  sister  by  the  hand  when  he  came  to  any  steep 
places.  But,  alas !  when  that  youngster  was  called 
upon  to  receive  his  injunctions,  he  declared  he  could 
not  accompany  us.  He  had  promised,  he  said,  to  go 
on  a  tramp  with  some  of  the  other  men,  which  would 
take  him  all  day.  And  that,  of  course,  put  an  end  to 
our  expedition.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  air,  charm- 
ing to  me,  of  evident  sorrow  and  disappointment  with 
which  Beatrice  told  me  this  early  in  the  evening.  The 
next  day  was  the  only  one  for  which  such  a  trip  could 
be  planned,  for,  on  the  day  following,  two  older  sisters 
were  expected,  and  then  everything  would  be  different. 
I,  too,  was  very  much  grieved  and  disappointed,  for  I 
had  expected  a  day  of  rare  pleasure ;  but  my  regret 
was  tempered  by  an  intense  satisfaction  at  perceiving 
how  sorry  she  was.  The  few  words  she  said  on  the 
subject  touched  me  very  much.  She  was  such  a  true, 
honest-hearted  girl  that  she  could  not  conceal  what  she 
felt ;  and  when  we  shook  hands  in  bidding  each  other 
good-night,  it  was  with  more  warmth  than  either  of  us 
had  yet  shown  at  the  recurrence  of  this  little  ceremony. 


216  A  BORROWED   MONTH. 

When  I  went  to  my  room  I  said  to  myself :  "If  she 
had  not  been  prevented  from  going,  I  should  never 
have  known  how  glad  she  would  be  to  go."  The 
thought  pleased  me  greatly,  but  I  had  no  time  to  dwell 
upon  it,  for  in  came  Dick,  who,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  legs  very  wide  apart,  declared  to  me 
that  he  had  found  his  sister  was  so  cut  up  by  not  being 
able  to  make  those  sketches  on  the  mountain  the  next 
day,  that  he  had  determined  to  go  with  us. 

"It  will  be  a  beastly  shame  to  disappoint  her,"  he 
said  ;  "  so  you  can  get  your  traps  together,  and  we  will 
have  an  early  breakfast  and  start  off." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  when  he  had  shut  the  door  behind 
him,  "  I  know  how  much  she  wanted  to  go,  and  she  is 
going  !     Could  anything  be  better  than  this?  " 

In  making  the  physical  transfers  which  were  neces- 
sary at  this  period  for  my  enjoyment  of  an  outdoor  ex- 
cursion, I  did  not  always  bring  my  mental  force  to 
work  upon  an  exchange  of  condition.  Very  often  I 
was  willing  to  send  out  my  ailment  to  another,  and  to 
content  myself  with  being  for  the  day  what  I  would  be 
in  my  ordinary  health.  But  in  particular  instances, 
such  as  those  of  Parkman  and  Bufford,  I  willed  —  and 
persuaded  myself  that  I  had  succeeded  —  that  certain 
desirable  attributes  of  my  benefactor  for  the  day, 
which  would  be  useless  to  him  during  his  period  of  en- 
forced restfulness,  should  be  attracted  to  myself. 
Before  I  went  to  sleep  I  determined  that  on  the  follow- 
ing day  I  would  exchange  with  my  brother  Philip,  and 
would  make  it  as  absolute  an  exchange  as  my  will 
could  bring  about.     Phil  was  not  an  athlete,  like  Park- 


A  BORROWED   MONTH.  217 

man,  but  he  was  a  strong  and  vigorous  fellow,  with  an 
immense  deal  of  go  in  him.  He  was  thoroughly  good- 
natured,  and  I  knew  that  he  would  be  perfectly  will- 
ing, if  he  could  know  all  about  it,  to  take  a  day's  rest, 
and  give  me  a  day  with  Beatrice.  And  what  a  charm- 
ing day  that  was  to  be  !  We  did  not  know  exactly  where 
we  were  going,  and  we  should  have  to  explore.  There 
would  be  steep  places  to  climb,  and  it  would  not  be 
Dick  who  would  help  his  sister.  We  should  have  to 
rest,  and  we  would  rest  together.  There  would  be  a 
delightful  lunch  under  the  shade  of  some  rock.  There 
would  be  long  talks,  and  a  charming  cooperation  in  the 
selection  of  points  of  view  and  in  work.  Indeed,  there 
was  no  knowing  what  might  not  come  out  of  a  day  like 
that. 

In  the  morning  I  made  the  transfer,  and  soon  after- 
wards I  arose.  Before  I  was  ready  to  go  down-stairs 
I  was  surprised  by  an  attack  of  headache,  a  thing  very 
unusual  with  me.  The  pain  increased  so  much  that  I 
was  obliged  to  go  back  to  bed.  I  soon  found  that 
I  must  give  up  the  intended  excursion,  and  I  remained 
in  bed  all  day.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  while 
I  lay  bemoaning  my  present  misery  as  well  as  the  loss 
of  the  great  pleasure  I  had  expected,  a  thought  sud- 
denly came  into  my  mind,  which,  in  spite  of  my  mis- 
eries, made  me  burst  out  laughing.  I  remembered  that 
my  brother  Phil,  although  enjoying,  as  a  rule,  the 
most  vigorous  good  health,  was  subject  to  occasional 
attacks  of  sick  headache,  which  usually  laid  him  up  for 
a  day  or  two.  Evidently  I  had  struck  him  on  one  of 
his  headache  days.     How  relieved  the  old  fellow  must 


218  A    BORROWED   MONTH. 

be  to  find  his  positive  woe  changed  to  a  negative  evil ! 
It  was  very  funny  ! 

In  the  evening  came  Dick  with  a  message  from  his 
mother  and  his  sister  Beatrice,  who  wanted  to  know 
how  I  felt  by  this  time,  and  if  I  would  have  a  cup  of 
tea,  or  anything.  "It's  a  beastly  shame,"  said  he, 
"  that  you  got  yourself  knocked  up  in  this  way." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "but  my  misfortune  is  your  good 
fortune,  for,  of  course,  you  had  your  tramp  with  your 
friends." 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  had  that  any  way,"  replied  the 
good  youth,  "  for  I  only  intended  to  walk  a  mile  or 
two  up  the  mountain,  just  to  satisfy  the  old  lad}",  and 
then,  without  saying  whether  I  was  coming  back  or  not, 
I  intended  to  slip  off  and  join  the  other  fellows. 
Wouldn't  that  have  been  a  jolly  plan?  Beatrice  would 
have  had  her  day,  and  I  should  have  had  mine.  But 
you  must  go  and  upset  her  part  of  it." 

When  Dick  had  gone  I  reflected.  What  a  day  this 
would  have  been  !  Alone  so  long  with  Beatrice  among 
those  grand  old  mountains !  As  I  continued  to  think 
of  this  I  began  to  tremble,  and  the  more  I  thought  the 
more  I  trembled ;  and  the  reason  I  trembled  was  the 
conviction  that  if  I  had  spent  that  day  with  her,  I  cer- 
tainly should  have  proposed  to  her. 

"  Phil,"  I  said,  "I  thank  you.  I  thank  you  more  for 
}our  headache  than  for  anything  else  any  other  fellow 
could  give  me." 

A  sick  headache,  aided  by  conscience,  can  work  a 
great  change  in  a  man.  My  soul  condemned  me  for 
having  come  so  near  being  a  very  false  lover,  and  my 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  219 

mind  congratulated  me  upon  having  the  miss  made  for 
me,  for  I  never  should  have  been  strong  enough  to 
make  it  for  myself. 

The  next  day  the  sisters  arrived,  and  I  saw  but  little 
of  Beatrice,  for  which,  although  quite  sorry,  I  was  also 
very  glad  ;  and  after  a  day  on  the  mountain  which  I 
owed  to  Horace  Bartlett,  the  last  man  in  our  club  on 
whom  I  felt  I  could  draw,  I  returned  to  the  hotel,  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  Kate.  I  had  informed  m}-  friends 
in  America  of  the  ailment  which  had  so  frustrated  all 
my  plans  of  work  and  enjoyment,  but  I  had  never 
written  anything  in  regard  to  my  novel  scheme  of 
relief.  This  was  something  which  could  be  better  ex- 
plained by  word  of  mouth  when  I  returned.  And,  be- 
sides, I  did  not  wish  to  say  anything  about  it  until  the 
month  of  proposed  physical  transfers  had  expired.  I 
wrote  to  Kate,  however,  that  I  was  now  able  to  walk 
and  climb  as  much  as  I  pleased,  and  in  my  repentant 
exuberance  1  hinted  at  a  great  many  points  which,  al- 
though I  knew  she  could  not  understand  them,  would 
excite  her  curiosity  and  interest  in  the  remarkable  story 
I  would  tell  her  when  I  returned.  I  tried  to  intimate,  in 
the  most  guarded  way,  much  that  I  intended  to  say  to  her 
when  I  saw  her  concerning  my  series  of  deliverances  ; 
and  my  satisfaction  at  having  escaped  a  great  tempta- 
tion gave  a  kindly  earnestness  to  my  manner  of  express- 
mg  myself,  which  otherwise  it  might  not  have  had. 

There  were  now  six  days  of  my  Swiss  holiday  left ; 
and  during  these  I  threw  myself  upon  the  involuntary 
kindness  of  Mr.  Henry  Brinton,  editor  of  a  periodical 
entitled  "  Our  Mother  Earth,"  and  upon  that  of  his  five 


220  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

assistants  in  the  publishing  and  editorial  departments. 
Brinton  was  a  good  fellow,  devoted  to  scientific  agri- 
culture and  the  growing  of  small  fruits ;  a  man  of  a 
most  practical  mind.  I  knew  him  and  his  associates 
very  well,  and  had  no  hesitation  in  calling  upon  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  as  I  had  previously  resolved, 
I  brought  my  course  of  physical  transfers  to  a  close ; 
and  it  was  with  no  little  anxiety  that  I  arose  one  morning 
from  my  bed  with  my  mind  determined  to  bear  in  my 
own  proper  person  all  the  ills  of  which  I  was  possessed. 

I  walked  across  the  room.  It  may  appear  strange, 
but  I  must  admit  that  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  satisfac- 
tion that  I  felt  a  twinge.  It  was  but  a  little  twinge,  but 
yet  I  felt  it,  and  this  was  something  that  had  not 
happened  to  me  for  a  month. 

"It  was  not  fancy  then,"  I  said  to  myself,  *' that 
gave  me  this  precious  relief,  this  month  of  rare  delight 
and  profit ;  it  was  the  operation  of  the  outstretching 
power  of  the  mind.  I  owe  you  much  happiness,  you 
little  man  with  the  big  head  whom  I  met  in  the  Kursaal, 
and  if  you  were  here  I  would  make  you  admit  that  I 
can  truly  believe  in  myself." 

The  next  day  I  was  better,  with  only  an  occasional 
touch  of  the  old  disorder  ;  and  in  a  few  days  I  was  free 
from  it  altogether,  and  could  walk  as  well  as  ever  I 
could  in  my  life. 

I  returned  to  America  strong  and  agile,  and  with  a 
portfolio  full  of  suggestive  sketches.  One  of  these 
was  the  back  hair  and  part  of  the  side  face  of  a  girl 
who  was  engaged  in  sketching  in  a  mountainous  region. 
But  this  I  tore  up  on  the  voyage. 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  221 


WEST. 

I  WILL  now  relate  the  events  which  took  place  in 
America,  among  the  people  in  whom  I  was  most  inter- 
ested, while  I,  a  few  thousand  miles  to  the  east,  was 
enjoying  my  month  of  excursion  and  art  work  in  the 
mountains  of  Switzerland. 

On  my  return  to  my  old  associates  I  had  intended  to 
state  to  all  of  them,  in  turn,  that  I  owed  my  delightful 
holiday  to  the  fact  that  I  had  been  able  to  transfer  to 
them  the  physical  disability  which  had  prevented  me 
from  making  use  of  the  opportunities  offered  me  by  the 
Alps  and  the  vales  of  Helvetia.  But  by  conversation 
with  one  and  another  I  gradually  became  acquainted 
with  certain  interesting  facts  which  determined  me  to 
be  very  cautious  in  making  disclosures  regarding  the 
outreachiug  power  of  my  will. 

No  one  of  my  friends  was  so  much  affected  by  m} 
departure  for  Europe  as  that  dear  girl  Kate  Balthis, 
although  I  had  no  idea  at  the  time  that  this  was  so. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  opposed  to  my  going ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  was  she  who  had  most  encouraged  me  to 
persevere  in  ray  intention  to  visit  Europe,  and  to  con- 
quer or  disregard  the  man}^  obstacles  to  the  plan  which 
rose  up  before  me.  She  had  taken  a  great  interest  in 
my  artistic  career,  and  much  more  personal  interest 


222  A   BORROWED   MONTH. 

in  me  than  I  had  dared  to  suppose.  She  had  imagined, 
and  I  feel  that  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so,  that 
I  felt  an  equal  interest  in  her  ;  and  when  I  went  away 
without  a  word  more  than  any  friend  might  say  to  an- 
other, the  girl  was  hurt.  It  was  not  a  deep  wound  ;  it 
was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  rebuff.  She  felt  a  slight 
sense  of  humiliation,  and  wondered  if  she  had  infused 
more  warmth  into  her  intercourse  with  me  than  was 
warranted  by  the  actual  quality  of  our  friendship.  But 
she  cherished  no  resentment,  and  merely  put  away  an 
almost  finished  interior,  in  which  I  had  painted  a  fair 
but  very  distant  landscape  seen  through  a  partly 
opened  window,  and  set  herself  to  work  on  a  fresh 
canvas. 

Chester  Parkman,  the  artist- athlete  whom  I  have 
mentioned,  was  always  fond  of  Kate's  society  ;  but 
after  my  departure  he  came  a  great  deal  more  fre- 
quently to  her  studio  than  before  ;  and  he  took  it  into 
his  head  that  he  would  like  to  have  his  portrait  painted 
by  her.  I  had  never  supposed  that  Parkman 's  mind 
was  capable  of  such  serviceable  subtlety  as  this,  and  I 
take  the  opportunity  here  to  give  him  credit  for  it. 
Kate's  forte  was  clearly  portraiture,  although  she  did 
not  confine  herself  at  that  time  to  this  class  of  work ; 
and  she  was  well  pleased  to  have  such  an  admirable 
subject  as  Chester  Parkman,  who,  if  he  had  not  been 
an  artist  himself,  might  have  made  a  very  comfortable 
(ivelihood  by  acting  as  a  model  for  other  artists.  This 
portrait-painting  business,  of  which  I  should  have 
totally  disapproved  had  I  known  of  it,  brought  them 
together  for  an  hour  every  day ;  and,  although  Kate 


A   BORROWED   MONTE.  223 

had  two  or  three  pupils,  they  worked  in  an  adjoining 
room,  separated  by  drapery  from  her  own  studio ;  and 
this  gave  Parkman  every  opportunity  of  making  him- 
self as  agreeable  as  he  could  be.  His  method  of  ac- 
complishing this,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  was  by 
looking  as  well  as  he  could  rather  than  by  conversa- 
tional efforts.  But  he  made  Kate  agreeable  to  him  in 
a  way  of  which  at  the  time  she  knew  nothing.  He  so 
arranged  his  position  that  a  Venetian  mirror  in  a  corner 
gave  him  an  admirable  view  of  Kate's  face  as  she  sat 
at  her  easel.  Thus,  as  she  studied  his  features,  his  eyes 
dwelt  more  and  more  fondly  upon  hers,  though  she 
noticed  it  not.  This  sort  of  thing  went  on  till  Parkman 
found  himself  in  a  very  bad  way.  The  image  of  Kate 
rose  up  before  him  when  he  was  not  in  her  studio,  and 
it  had  such  an  influence  upon  him  that,  if  I  may  so  put 
it,  he  gradually  sunk  his  lungs,  and  let  his  heart  rise 
to  the  surface.  He  imagined,  though  with  what  rea- 
son I  am  not  prepared  to  say,  that  he  could  perceive  in 
Kate's  countenance  indications  of  much  admiration  of 
her  subject,  and  he  flattered  himself  this  was  not  con- 
fined to  her  consideration  of  him  as  a  model.  In  fact, 
he  found  that  he  was  ver}'  much  in  love  with  the  girl. 
If  he  had  been  a  wise  man,  he  would  have  postponed 
proposing  to  her  until  his  portrait  was  finished,  for  if 
she  refused  him  he  would  lose  both  picture  and  painter. 
But  he  was  not  a  wise  man,  and  one  day  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  as  soon  as  she  had  finished  the  corner  of 
his  mouth,  at  which  she  was  then  at  work,  he  would 
abandon  his  pose,  and  tell  her  how  things  stood  with 
him.     But  a  visitor  came  in,  and  prevented  this  plan 


224  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

from  being  carried  out.  This  interruption,  however, 
was  merely  a  postponement.  Parkman  determined 
that  on  the  next  day  he  would  settle  the  matter  with 
Kate  the  moment  he  arrived  at  the  studio,  or  as  soon, 
at  least,  as  he  was  alone  with  her. 

If  he  had  known  the  state  of  Kate's  mind  at  this 
time,  he  would  have  been  very  much  encouraged.  I 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  any  tenderness  of  sentiment 
towards  him  was  growing  up  within  her,  but  she  had 
begun  to  admire  very  much  this  fine,  handsome  fellow. 
She  took  more  pleasure  in  working  at  his  portrait  than 
m  any  other  she  had  yet  done.  A  man,  she  had  come 
to  think,  to  be  true  to  art  and  to  his  manhood,  should 
look  like  this  one. 

Thus  it  was  that  although  Kate  Balthis  had  not  yet 
thought  of  her  model  with  feelings  that  had  become 
fond,  it  could  not  be  denied  that  her  affections,  having 
lately  been  obliged  to  admit  that  they  had  no  right  to 
consider  themselves  occupied,  were  not  in  a  condition 
to  repel  a  new  comer.  And  Parkman  was  a  man  who, 
when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  offer  his  valued  self, 
would  do  it  with  a  vigor  and  earnestness  that  could  not 
easily  be  withstood. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Chester  Parkman  went  to 
sleep  that  night,  so  engaged  was  he  in  thinking  upon 
what  he  was  going  to  do  on  the  morrow.  But,  shortly 
after  he  arose  the  next  morning,  he  was  attacked  by  a 
very  queer  feeling  in  his  left  leg,  which  made  it  decid- 
edly unpleasant  for  him  when  he  attempted  to  walk. 
Indisposition  of  any  kind  was  exceedingly  unusual 
with  the  young  athlete,  but  he  knew  that  under  the 


A   BORROWED  MONTH.  225 

circumstances  the  first  thing  necessary  for  his  accurately 
developed  muscles  was  absolute  rest,  and  this  he  gave 
them.  He  sent  a  note  to  Kate,  telling  her  what  had 
happened  to  him,  and  expressing  his  great  regret  at 
not  being  able  to  keep  his  appointment  for  the  day. 
He  would  see  her,  however,  at  the  very  earliest  ix)ssible 
moment  that  this  most  unanticipated  disorder  would 
allow  him.  He  sent  for  a  trainer,  and  had  himself 
rubbed  and  lotioned,  and  then  betook  himself  to  a  pipe, 
a  novel,  and  a  big  easy-chair,  having  first  quieted  his 
much  perturbed  soul  b}^  assuring  it  that  if  he  did  not 
get  over  this  thing  in  a  few  days,  he  would  write  to 
Kate,  and  tell  her  in  the  letter  all  he  had  intended 
to  say. 

The  next  day,  much  to  his  surprise,  he  arose  perfectly 
well.  He  walked,  he  strode,  he  sprang  into  the  air ; 
there  was  absolutely  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  He 
rejoiced  beyond  his  power  of  expression,  and  deter- 
mined to  visit  Kate's  studio  even  earlier  than  the  usual 
hour ;  but  before  he  was  ready  to  start  he  received  a 
note  from  her,  which  stated  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  stay  at  home  that  day  on  account  of  a  sudden  attack 
of  something  like  rheumatism,  and  therefore,  even  if 
he  thought  himself  well  enough,  he  need  not  make  the 
exertion  necessary  to  go  all  the  way  up  to  her  studio. 
This  note  was  very  prettily  expressed,  and  on  the  first 
reading  of  it  Parkman  could  see  nothing  in  it  but  a  kind 
desire  on  the  part  of  the  writer  that  he  should  know 
there  would  be  no  occasion  for  him  to  do  himself  a  pos- 
sible injury  by  mounting  to  her  lofty  studio  before  he 
was  entirely  recovered.     Of  course  she  could  not  know, 


226  A  BORROWED   MONTH. 

he  thought,  that  he  would  be  able  to  come  that  day, 
but  it  was  very  good  of  her  to  consider  the  possible 
contingency. 

But,  after  sitting  down  and  reflecting  on  the  matter 
for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  Parkman  took  a  different 
view  of  the  note.  He  now  perceived  that  the  girl  was 
making  fun  of  him.  What  imaginable  reason  was  there 
for  believing  that  she,  a  perfectly  healthy  person, 
should  be  suddenly  afflicted  by  a  rheumatism  which  ap- 
parently was  as  much  like  that  of  which  he  had  told 
her  the  day  before  as  one  pain  could  be  like  another. 
Yes,  she  was  making  game  of  the  muscles  and  sinews 
on  which  he  prided  himself.  She  did  not  believe  the 
excuse  he  had  given,  and  trumped  up  this  ridiculous 
ailment  to  pay  him  back  in  his  own  coin.  Chester 
Parkman  was  not  easily  angered,  but  he  allowed  this 
note  to  touch  him  on  a  tender  point.  It  seemed  to 
intimate  that  he  would  asperse  his  own  physical  organ- 
ization in  order  to  get  an  excuse  for  not  keeping  an 
appointment.  To  accuse  him  of  such  disloyalty  was 
unpardonable.  He  was  very  indignant,  and  said  to 
himself  that  he  would  give  Miss  Balthis  some  time  to 
come  to  her  senses  ;  and  that  if  she  were  that  kind  of 
a  girl,  it  would  be  very  well  for  him  to  reflect.  He  wrote 
a  coldly  expressed  note  to  Kate,  in  which  he  said  that, 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  would  not  inconvenience 
her  by  giving  her  even  the  slightest  reason  for  coming 
to  her  studio  during  the  continuance  of  her  most  inex- 
plicable malady. 

Mr.  Chester  Parkman's  mind  might  have  been  much 
more  legitimately  disturbed  had  he  known  that  during 


A   BORROWED  MONTH.  227 

the  night  before  Kate  had  been  lying  awake,  and  had 
been  thinking  of  me.  She  had  heard  that  day  from  a 
friend,  to  whom  I  had  written,  of  the  great  misfortune 
which  had  happened  to  me  in  Switzerland ;  and  she 
had  been  thinking,  dear  girl,  that  if  it  were  possible 
how  gladly  would  she  bear  my  trouble  for  a  time,  and 
give  me  a  chance  to  enjoy  that  lovely  land  which  I  had 
tried  so  hard  to  reach.  And  if  he  had  been  told  that 
at  that  very  time,  as  I  lay  awake  in  the  early  morning, 
the  idea  had  come  into  my  head,  although  most  instantly 
dismissed,  that  I  should  like  to  be  beholden  to  Kate  for 
a  day  of  Alpine  pleasure,  he  would  reasonably  have 
wondered  what  that  had  to  do  with  it. 

After  I  had  become  acquainted  with  these  facts,  I 
asked  young  Tom  Latham,  the  oarsman,  to  whom  I  sup- 
posed I  had  transferred  my  physical  condition  on  the  day 
after  I  walked  with  Parkmanic  legs  to  see  the  sun  rise, 
if  he  had  been  at  all  troubled  with  rheumatism  during 
the  past  few  months.  He  replied  with  some  asperity 
that  he  had  been  as  right  as  a  trivet  straight  along ; 
and  why  in  the  world  did  I  imagine  he  was  subject  to 
rheumatism ! 

Of  course  Kate  was  annoyed  when  she  received 
Parkman's  note.  She  saw  that  he  had  taken  offence 
at  something,  although  she  had  no  idea  what  it  was. 
But  she  did  not  allow  this  to  trouble  her  long,  and 
said  to  herself  that  if  Mr.  Parkman  was  angry  with 
her  she  was  very  sorry,  but  she  would  be  content  to 
postpone  work  on  the  portrait  until  he  should  recover 
his  good  humor. 

When  she  had  retired  that  nisrht  she  had  determined 


228  A   BORROWED   MONTH. 

that,  if  she  should  not  be  well  enough  to  go  to  her 
studio  in  a  few  days,  she  would  send  for  some  of  her 
working  materials  and  try  to  paint  in  her  room.  But 
the  next  morning  she  arose  perfectly  well. 

If,  however,  she  had  known  what  was  going  to 
happen,  she  would  have  preferred  spending  another 
da}^  in  her  pleasant  chamber  with  her  books  and  sew- 
ing. For,  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  there 
walked  into  her  studio  Professor  Dynard,  a  gentleman 
who  for  some  time  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  interest  in 
her  and  her  work. 

She  had  usually  been  very  well  pleased  to  talk  to 
him,  for  he  was  a  man  of  wide  information  and  good 
judgment.  But  this  morning  there  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing about  him  which  was  not  altogether  pleasant. 
In  the  first  place,  he  stood  before  the  unfinished  por- 
trait of  Chester  Parkman,  regarding  it  with  evident 
displeasure.  For  some  minutes  he  said  nothing,  but 
hemmed  and  grunted.  Presently  he  turned  and  re- 
marked, "  I  don't  like  it." 

''What  is  the  matter  with  it?"  asked  Kate  from 
the  easel  at  which  she  was  at  work.  "  Have  I  not 
caught  the  likeness?  " 

"Oh,  that  is  good  enough  as  far  as  it  goes,'*  said 
the  Professor.  "  Very  good  indeed  !  too  good  !  You 
are  going  to  make  an  admirable  picture.  But  I  wish 
you  had  another  subject." 

"  Why,  I  thought  myself  extraordinarily  fortunate  in 
getting  so  good  a  one!"  exclaimed  Kate.  "Is  he 
not  an  admirable  model?  " 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  the  professor,  "  but  I  don't 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  229 

like  to  see  you  painting  a  young  fellow  like  Parkman. 
Now,  don't  be  angry,"  he  continued,  taking  a  seat 
near  her  and  looking  around  to  see  if  the  curtain  of 
the  pupils'  room  was  properly  drawn.  "  I  take  a 
great  interest  in  your  welfare,  Miss  Balthis,  and  my 
primary  object  in  coming  here  this  morning  is  to  tell 
you  so  ;  and,  therefore,  you  must  not  be  surprised  that 
I  was  somewhat  annoyed  when  I  found  that  you  were 
painting  young  Parkman's  portrait.  I  don't  like  you 
to  be  painting  the  portraits  of  young  men,  Miss  Balthis, 
and  I  will  tell  3'ou  why."  And  then  he  drew  his  chair 
a  little  nearer  to  her,  and  offered  himself  in  marriage. 
It  must  be  rather  awkward  for  a  young  lady  artist 
to  be  proposed  to  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
when  she  is  sitting  at  her  easel,  one  hand  holding  her 
palette  and  maul-stick,  and  the  other  her  brush,  and 
with  three  girl  pupils  on  the  other  side  of  some  mod- 
erately heavy  drapery,  probably  listening  with  all  their 
six  eai-s.  But  in  Kate's  case  the  peculiarity  of  the 
situation  was  emphasized  by  the  fact  that  this  was  the 
first  time  that  any  one  had  ever  proposed  to  her.  She 
had  expected  me  to  do  something  of  the  kind  ;  and  two 
days  before,  although  she  did  not  know  it,  she  had 
just  missed  a  declaration  from  Parkman ;  but  now  it 
was  really  happening,  and  a  man  was  asking  her  to 
marry  him.  And  this  man  was  Professor  Dynard  I 
Had  Kate  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding  him  with  the 
thousand  eyes  of  a  fly,  never,  with  a  single  one  of 
tliose  eyes,  would  she  have  looked  upon  him  as  a 
lover.  But  she  turned  towards  him,  and  sat  up  very 
straight,  and  listened  to  all  he  had  to  say. 


230  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

The  Professor  told  a  very  fair  story.  He  had  long 
admired  Miss  Balthis,  and  had  ended  by  loving  her. 
He  knew  very  well  that  he  was  no  longer  a  young  man, 
but  he  thought  that  if  she  would  carefully  consider  the 
matter,  she  would  agree  with  him  that  he  was  likely  to 
make  her  a  much  better  husband  than  the  usual  young 
man  could  be  expected  to  make.  In  the  first  place, 
the  object  of  his  life,  as  far  as  fortune  was  concerned, 
had  been  accomplished,  and  he  was  ready  to  devote 
the  rest  of  his  days  to  her,  her  fortune,  and  her  hap- 
piness. He  would  not  ask  her  to  give  up  her  art,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  would  afford  her  every  facility  for 
work  and  study  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances. He  would  take  her  to  Europe,  to  the  isles  of 
the  sea,  —  wherever  she  might  like  to  go.  She  could 
live  in  the  artistic  heart  of  the  world,  or  in  any  land 
where  she  might  be  happy.  He  was  a  man  both  able 
and  free  to  devote  himself  to  her.  He  had  money 
enough,  and  he  was  not  bound  by  circumstances  to 
special  work  or  particular  place.  Through  him  the 
world  would  be  open  to  her,  and  his  greatest  happiness 
should  be  to  see  her  enjoy  her  opportunities.  "  More 
than  that,"  he  continued,  "  I  want  3'ou  to  remember 
that,  although  I  am  no  longer  in  my  first  youth,  I  am 
very  strong,  and  enjoy  excellent  health.  This  is  some- 
thing you  should  consider  very  carefully  in  making  an 
alliance  for  life  ;  for  it  would  be  most  unfortunate  for 
you  if  you  should  marry  a  man  who,  early  in  life, 
should  become  incapacitated  from  pursuing  his  career, 
and  you  should  find  yourself  obliged  to  provide,  not 
only  for  yourself,  but  for  him." 


A  BORROWED  MONTH  231 

This,  Kate  knew  very  well,  was  intended  as  a  refer- 
ence to  me.  Professor  Dynard  had  reason  to  believe 
I  was  much  attached  to  Kate,  and  he  had  heard  exag- 
gerated accounts  of  my  being  laid  up  with  rheumatism 
in  Switzerland.  It  was  very  good  in  him  to  warn  her 
against  a  man  who  might  become  a  chronic  invalid  on 
her  hands  ;  but  Kate  said  nothing  to  him,  and  let  him 
go  on. 

"  And  even  these  devotees  of  muscularity,"  said  the 
Professor,  "  these  amateur  athletes,  are  liable  to  be 
stricken  down  at  any  moment  by  some  unforeseen  dis- 
ease. I  do  not  wish  to  elevate  the  body  above  the 
mind.  Miss  Balthis,  but  these  things  should  be  care- 
fully considered.  You  should  marry  a  man  who  is  not 
only  in  vigorous  health,  but  is  likely  to  continue  so. 
And  now,  my  dear  Miss  Balthis,  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
utter  one  word  in  answer  to  what  I  have  been  saying 
to  you.  I  want  you  to  consider,  carefully  and  ear- 
nestly, the  proposition  I  have  made.  Do  not  speak 
now,  I  beg  of  you,  for  I  know  I  could  not  expect  at  this 
moment  a  favorable  answer.  I  want  you  to  give  your 
calm  judgment  an  opportunity  to  come  to  my  aid. 
On  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  will  come  to  receive  your 
answer.     Good-bye." 

During  that  afternoon  and  the  next  day  Kate  thought 
of  little  but  of  the  offer  of  marriage  which  had  been 
made  to  her.  Sometimes  she  regretted  that  she  had 
not  been  bold  enough  to  interrupt  him  with  a  refusal, 
and  so  end  the  matter.  And  then,  again,  she  fell  to 
thinking  upon  the  subject  of  love,  thinking  and  think- 
ing.    Naturally  her  first  thoughts  fell  upon  me.     But 


232  A   BORROWED  MONTH. 

I  had  not  spoken,  nor  had  I  written.  This  could  not 
be  accidental.  It  had  a  meaning  which  she  ought  not 
to  allow  herself  to  overlook.  She  found,  too,  while 
thus  turning  over  the  contents  of  her  mind,  that  she 
had  thought  a  little,  a  very  little  she  assured  herself, 
about  Chester  Parkman.  She  admitted  that  there  was 
something  insensibly  attractive  about  him,  and  he  had 
been  extremely  attentive  and  kind  to  her.  But  even  if 
her  thoughts  had  been  inclined  to  dwell  upon  him,  it 
would  have  been  ridiculous  to  allow  them  to  do  so  now, 
for  in  some  way  she  had  offended  him,  and  might  never 
see  him  again.  He  must  be  of  a  very  irritable  disposi- 
tion. 

And  then  there  came  up  before  her  visions  of  Europe 
and  of  the  isles  of  the  sea ;  of  a  life  amid  the  art  won- 
ders of  the  world,  —  a  life  with  every  wish  gratified, 
ever}'  desire  made  possible.  Professor  Dynard  had 
worked  much  better  than  she  had  supposed  at  the  time 
he  was  working.  He  had  not  offered  her  the  kind  of 
love  she  had  expected,  should  love  ever  be  offered,  but 
he  had  placed  before  her,  immediately  and  without 
reserve,  everything  to  which  she  had  expected  to  attain 
by  the  labors  of  a  life.  All  this  was  ver}^  dangerous 
thinking  for  Kate  ;  the  fortifications  of  her  heart  were 
being  approached  at  a  very  vulnerable  point.  When 
she  started  independently  in  life,  she  did  not  set  out 
with  the  determination  to  fall  in  love,  or  to  have  love 
made  to  her,  or  to  be  married,  or  anything  of  the  kind. 
Her  purpose  was  to  live  an  art  life  ;  and  to  do  that  as 
she  wished  to  do  it,  she  would  have  to  work  very  hard 
and  wait  very  long.     But  now,  all  she  had  to  do  was 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  233 

to  give  a  little  nod,  and  the  hope  of  the  future  would 
be  the  fact  of  the  present.  Even  her  own  self  would 
be  exalted.  "What  a  different  woman  should  I  be," 
she  thought,  "in  Italy  or  in  Egypt."  This  was  a 
terribly  perilous  time  for  Kate.  The  temptation  came 
directly  into  the  line  of  her  hopes  and  aspirations.  It 
tinged  her  mind  with  a  delicately  spreading  rosiuess. 

The  next  morning  when  she  went  to  her  studio  she 
found  there  a  note  from  Professor  Dynard,  statiug  that 
he  could  not  keep  his  appointment  with  her  that  day 
on  account  of  a  sudden  attack  of  something  like  rheu- 
matism, which  made  it  impossible  to  leave  his  room. 
This  indisposition  was  not  a  matter  of  much  impor- 
tance, he  wrote,  and  would  probably  disappear  in  a  few 
days,  when  he  would  hasten  to  call  upon  her.  He 
begged  that  in  the  mean  time  she  would  continue  the 
consideration  of  the  subject  on  which  he  had  spoken  to 
her ;  and  hoped  very  earnestly  that  she  would  arrive  at 
a  conclusion  which  should  be  favorable  to  him,  and 
which,  in  that  case,  he  most  sincerely  believed  would 
also  be  favorable  to  herself. 

When  she  read  this,  Kate  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
and  laughed.  "  After  all  he  said  the  other  day  about 
the  danger  of  my  getting  a  husband  who  would  have 
to  be  taken  care  of,  this  is  certainly  very  funny  !  "  She 
forgot  the  rosy  hues  which  had  been  insensibly  tinting 
her  dreams  of  the  future  on  the  day  before,  and  only 
thought  of  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  with  a  little  bald 
place  on  the  top  of  his  head,  who  was  subject  to  rheu- 
matism, and  probably  very  cross  when  he  was  obliged 
to  stay  in  the  house.     "It  is  a  shame,"  she  said  tc 


234  A  BORROWED   MONTH. 

herself,  '•'  to  allow  the  poor  old  gentleman  to  worry  his 
mind  about  me  any  longer.  It  will  be  no  more  than  a 
deception  to  let  him  lie  at  home  and  imagine  that  as 
soon  as  he  is  well  he  can  come  up  here  and  get  a  fa- 
vorable answer  from  me.  I'll  write  him  a  note  immedi- 
ately and  settle  the  matter."  And  this  she  did,  and 
thereby  escaped  the  greatest  danger  to  herself  to  which 
she  had  ever  been  exposed. 

Nearly  all  Kate's  art  friends  had  been  very  much  in- 
terested in  her  portrait  of  Chester  Parkman,  which,  in 
its  nearly  completed  state,  was  the  best  piece  of  work 
she  had  done.  Among  these  friends  was  Buflford, 
whose  pupil  Kate  had  been,  and  to  whom  she  had  long 
looked  up,  not  only  as  to  a  master,  but  as  to  a  dear  and 
kind  friend.  Mrs.  Bufford,  too,  was  extremely  fond 
of  Kate,  and  was  ever  ready  to  give  her  counsel  and 
advice,  but  not  in  regard  to  art,  which  subject  she  re- 
signed entirely  to  her  husband.  It  was  under  Mrs. 
Bufford's  guidance  that  Kate,  when  she  first  came  to 
the  city  from  her  home  in  the  interior  of  the  State, 
selected  her  boarding-house,  her  studio,  and  her  church. 
More  than  half  of  her  Sundays  were  spent  with  these 
good  friends,  and  the}'  had  always  considered  it  their 
duty  to  watch  over  her  as  if  her  parents  had  appointed 
them  her  guardians.  Bufford  was  greatly  disappointed 
when  he  found  that  the  work  on  Parkman 's  portrait 
had  been  abruptly  broken  off.  He  had  wished  Kate  to 
finish  it  in  time  for  an  approaching  exhibition,  where 
he  knew  it  would  attract  great  attention ,  both  from  the 
fact  that  the  subject  was  so  well  known  in  art  circles  and 
in  society,  and  because  it  was  going  to  be,  he  believed. 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  235 

a  most  admirable  piece  of  work.  Kate  had  explained 
to  him,  as  far  as  she  knew,  how  matters  stood.  Mr. 
Parkman  had  suddenly  become  offended  with  her,  why 
she  knew  not.  He  was  perfectly  well  and  able  to 
come,  she  said,  for  some  of  her  friends  had  seen  him 
going  about  as  usual ;  but  he  did  not  come  to  her,  and 
she  certainly  did  not  intend  to  ask  him  to  do  so.  Buf- 
ford  shook  his  head  a  good  deal  at  this,  and  when  he 
went  home  and  told  his  wife  about  it,  he  expressed 
his  opinion  that  Kate  was  not  to  blame  in  the 
matter. 

''That  young  Parkman,*'  he  said,  "is  extremely 
touchy,  and  he  has  an  entirely  too  good  opinion  of  him- 
self ;  and  by  indulging  in  some  of  his  crank}'  notions 
he  is  seriously  interfering  with  Kate's  career,  for  she 
has  nothing  on  hand  except  his  portrait  which  I  would 
care  to  have  her  exhibit." 

"Now  don't  you  be  too  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Bufford, 
*'  about  Kate  not  being  to  blame.  Young  girls,  with- 
out the  slightest  intention,  sometimes  do  and  say  things 
which  are  very  irritating,  and  Kate  is  just  as  high- 
spirited  as  Parkman  is  touchy.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  whole  quarrel  is  about  some  ridiculous  trifle,  and 
could  be  smoothed  over  with  a  few  words,  if  we  could 
only  get  the  few  words  said.  I  was  delighted  when  I 
heard  she  was  painting  Chester's  portrait,  for  I  hoped 
the  work  would  result  in  something  much  more  desir- 
able even  than  a  good  picture." 

"I  know  you  always  wanted  her  to  marry  him," 
said  Bufford. 

"  Yes,  and  I  still  want  her  to  do  so.     And  a  little 


236  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

piece  of  nonsense  like  this  should  not  be  allowed  to 
break  off  the  best  match  I  have  ever  known." 

'*  Since  our  own,"  suggested  her  husband. 

*'  That  is  understood,"  she  replied.  ''  And  now,  do 
you  know  what  I  think  is  our  duty  in  the  premises? 
We  should  make  it  our  business  to  heal  this  quarrel, 
and  bring  these  young  people  together  again.  I  am 
extremely  anxious  that  no  time  should  be  lost  in  doing 
this,  for  it  will  not  be  long  before  young  Clinton  will 
be  coming  home.  He  was  to  stay  away  only  three 
months  altogether." 

"And  you  are  afraid  he  will  interfere  with  your 
plans?  "  said  Bufford. 

*'  Indeed  I  am,"  answered  his  wife.  ''For  a  long 
time  Kate  and  he  have  been  very  intimate,  —  entirely 
too  much  so,  —  and  I  was  very  glad  when  he  went  away, 
and  gave  poor  Chester  a  chance.  Of  course  there  is 
nothing  settled  between  them  so  far,  because  if  there 
had  been  Clinton  would  never  have  allowed  that  por- 
trait to  be  thought  of." 

"  Jealous  wretch  !  "  remarked  Bufford. 

"  You  need  not  joke  about  it,"  said  his  wife.  "  It 
would  be  a  most  deplorable  thing  for  Kate  to  man*y 
Clinton.  He  has,  so  far,  made  no  name  for  himself  in 
art,  and  no  one  can  say  that  he  ever  will.  He  is  poor, 
and  has  nothing  on  earth  but  what  he  makes,  and  it  is 
not  probable  that  he  will  ever  make  anything.  And, 
worse  than  all  that,  he  has  become  a  chronic  invalid. 
I  have  heard  about  his  condition  in  Switzerland." 

''And  having  originally  very  little,"  said  her  hus- 
band, "  and  having  lost  the  only  valuable  thing  he 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  237 

possessed,  you  would  take  away  from  him  eveu  what 
he  expected  to  have.'* 

"  He  has  no  right  to  expect  it,"  said  Mrs.  Bufford. 
'*  and  it  would  be  a  wicked  and  cruel  thing  for  him  tc 
endeavor  to  take  Kate  away  from  a  man  like  Chestei 
Parkman.  Chester  is  rich,  he  is  handsome,  he  is  in 
perfect  health,  and  to  a  girl  with  an  artistic  mind  like 
Kate  he  should  be  a  constant  joy  to  look  upon.'* 

''  But,"  said  Bufford,  "  why  don't  you  leave  Kate  tc 
find  out  these  superiorities  for  herself  ? ' ' 

*'  It  would  never  do  at  all.  Don't  you  see  how  she 
has  let  the  right  man  go  on  account  of  some  trifliug 
misunderstanding?  And  Clinton  will  come  home,  and 
find  that  he  has  the  field  all  to  himself.  Now  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  want  you  to  do.  You  must  go  to  Kate  to- 
morrow, find  out  what  this  trouble  is  about,  and  rep- 
resent to  her  that  she  ought  not  to  allow  a  little 
misunderstanding  to  interfere  with  her  career  in 
art." 

*'  Why  don't  you  go  yourself?  "  said  Bufford. 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question.  I  could  not  put  the 
matter  on  an  art  basis,  and  anythmg  else  would  rouse 
Kate's  suspicions.  And,  besides,  I  want  you  after- 
wards to  go  to  Parkman,  and  talk  to  him ;  and,  of 
course,  I  could  not  do  that." 

*'  Very  well,"  said  Bufford,  "  I  am  going  to  see  them 
both  to-morrow,  and  will  endeavor  to  make  things 
straight  between  them  ;  but  I  don't  wish  to  be  consid- 
ered as  having  anything  to  do  with  the  matrimonial 
part  of  the  affair.  What  I  want  is  to  have  Kate  finish 
that  picture  in  time  for  the  exhibition." 


238  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

"  You  attend  to  that,*'  said  his  wife,  *'  and  the  mat- 
rimonial part  will  take  care  of  itself. ' ' 

But  Bufford  did  not  see  either  Kate  or  Parkman  the 
next  day,  being  prevented  from  leaving  his  room  by  a 
sudden  attack  of  something  like  rheumatism.  He  was 
a  man  of  strong  good  sense  and  persuasive  speech,  and 
I  think  he  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  bringing 
Parkman  and  Kate  together  again ;  and  if  this  had 
happened,  I  am  very  certain  that  Parkman  would  have 
lost  no  time  in  declaring  his  passion.  What  would 
have  resulted  from  this,  of  course,  I  cannot  say ;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  Kate  at  that  time  supposed 
that  she  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  regard  to  my  sen- 
timents towards  her.  In  fact,  if  Bufford  had  seen  the 
two  3'oung  people  that  day,  I  am  afraid,  I  am  very 
much  afraid  that  everything  would  have  gone  wrong. 

The  next  day  Bufford  did  see  Kate,  and  easily  ob- 
tained her  permission  to  call  on  Parkman,  and  endeavor 
to  find  out  what  it  was  that  had  given  him  umbrage  ; 
but  as  the  young  athlete  had  started  that  very  morning 
for  a  trip  to  the  West,  Bufford  was  obliged  to  admit  to 
himself,  very  reluctantly,  that  it  was  probably  useless 
to  consider  any  further  the  question  of  Kate's  finishing 
his  portrait  in  time  for  the  exhibition. 

When  I  returned  to  America,  and  at  the  very  earli- 
est possible  moment  presented  myself  before  Kate,  I 
had  not  been  ten  seconds  in  her  company  before  I  per- 
ceived that  I  was  an  accepted  lover.  How  I  perceived 
this  I  will  not  say,  for  every  one  who  has  been  ac- 
cepted can  imagine  it  for  himself ;  but  I  will  say  that, 
although  raised   to  the   wildest  pitch  of   joy  by  the 


A  BORROWED  MONTH.  239 

discovery,  I  was  very  much  surprised  at  it.  I  had 
never  told  the  girl  I  loved  her.  I  had  never  asked  her 
to  love  me.  But  here  it  was,  all  settled,  and  Kate  was 
my  own  dear  love.  Of  course,  feeling  as  I  did  towards 
her,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  avoid  any  backwardness  of 
demeanor,  which  might  indicate  to  her  that  I  was  sur- 
prised, and  I  know  that  not  for  a  moment  did  she  sus- 
pect it.  Before  the  end  of  our  interview,  however,  I 
found  out  how  I  had  been  accepted  without  knowing  it. 
It  had  been  on  account  of  the  letter  I  had  written  Kate 
from  Switzerland.  In  this  very  carefully  constructed 
epistle  I  had  hinted  at  a  great  many  things  which  I  had 
been  careful  not  to  explain,  not  wishing  to  put  upon 
paper  the  story  of  my  series  of  wonderful  deliverances, 
which  I  intended  with  my  own  mouth  to  tell  to  Kate. 
It  was  a  subtly  quiet  letter,  with  a  substratum  of  hilari- 
ousness,  of  enthusiasm,  surging  beneath  it,  which  some- 
times showed  through  the  thin  places  in  the  surface.  Of 
course,  writing  to  Kate,  my  mind  was  full  of  her,  as 
well  as  of  my  deliverances,  and  in  my  hypersubtlety  I 
so  expressed  my  feelings  in  regard  to  the  latter  of  these 
subjects  that  it  might  easily  have  been  supposed  to 
pertain  to  the  first.  In  fact,  when  I  afterwards  read 
this  letter  I  did  not  wonder  at  all  that  the  dear  girl 
thought  it  was  a  declaration  of  love.  That  she  made 
the  mistake  I  shall  never  cease  to  rejoice ;  for,  after 
leaving  Switzerland,  I  should  not  have  been  able,  in- 
voluntarily and  unconsciously,  to  ward  off  until  my  re- 
turn the  attacks  of  possible  lovers. 

From  day  to  day  I  met  nearly  all  the  persons  who, 
without  having  the  slightest  idea  that  they  were  doing 


240  A  BORROWED   MONTH. 

anything  of  the  kind,  had  been  of  such  wonderful  ser- 
vice to  me  while  I  was  abroad ;  and  I  never  failed  to 
make  particular  inquiries  in  regard  to  their  health  the 
past  summer.  Most  of  them  replied  that  they  had 
been  very  well  as  a  general  thing,  although  now  and 
then  they  might  have  been  under  the  weather  for  a  da}' 
or  two.  Few  of  my  friends  were  people  who  were 
given  to  remembering  ailments  past  and  gone,  and  if  I 
had  needed  any  specific  information  from  them  in  re- 
gard to  any  particular  day  on  which  they  had  been  con- 
fined to  the  house  by  this  or  that  slight  disorder,  I 
should  not  have  obtained  it. 

But  when  I  called  upon  Henry  Brinton,  the  editor  of 
"  Our  Mother  Earth,*'  I  received  some  very  definite 
and  interesting  information. 

' '  Everything  has  gone  on  pretty  much  as  usual  since 
you  left,"  he  said,  '^  except  that  about  a  month  ago 
we  had  a  visitation  of  a  curious  sort  of  epidemic  rheu- 
matism, which  actually  ran  through  the  oflSce.  It 
attacked  me  first,  but  as  I  understand  such  things  and 
know  very  well  that  outward  applications  are  of  no 
possible  use,  I  took  the  proper  medicine,  and  in  one 
day,  sir,  I  was  entirely  cured.  The  next  day,  however, 
Barclay,  our  book-keeper,  was  down  with  it,  or,  rather, 
he  was  obliged  to  stay  at  home  on  account  of  it.  I 
immediately  sent  him  my  bottle  of  medicine,  and  the 
next  day  he  came  down  to  the  oflSce  perfectly  well. 
After  him  Brown,  Simmons,  Cummings,  and  White, 
one  after  another,  were  all  attacked  in  the  same  way, 
but  each  was  cured  by  my  medicine  in  a  day.     The 


A  BORROWED   MONTH.  241 

malady,  however,  seemed  gradually  to  lose  its  force, 
and  Cummings  and  White  were  only  slightly  inconven- 
ienced, and  were  able  to  come  to  the  office." 

All  this  was  very  plain  to  me.  Brinton's  medicine 
was  indeed  the  proper  remedy  for  my  ailment,  and  had 
gradually  cured  it,  so  that  when  I  resumed  it  after  my 
month's  exemption,  there  was  very  little  left  of  it,  and 
this  soon  died  out  of  itself.  If  I  could  only  have 
known  this,  I  would  have  sent  it  over  to  Brinton  in  the 
first  instance. 

In  the  course  of  time  I  related  to  Kate  the  strange 
series  of  incidents  which  had  finally  brought  us  together. 
I  am  son-y  to  say  she  did  not  place  entire  belief  in  the 
outreaching  ix>wers  of  my  mind.  She  thought  that  the 
relief  from  my  disability  was  due  very  much  to  imagi- 
nation. 

"  How,"  I  said,  ''  do  you  account  for  those  remark- 
able involuntary  holidays  of  Parkman,  yourself,  and 
the  others,  which  were  so  opportune  for  me?  " 

"Things  did  happen  very  well  for  you,"  she  said, 
''  although  I  suppose  a  great  many  other  people  have 
had  a  series  of  lucky  events  come  into  their  lives.  But 
even  if  this  were  all  true,  I  do  not  think  it  turned  out 
exactly  as  it  should  have  done  in  a  moral  point  of  view. 
Of  course  I  am  delighted,  you  poor  boy,  that  you 
should  have  had  that  charming  month  in  Switzerland, 
after  all  the  trouble  yon  had  gone  through  ;  but  wasn't 
it  a  little  selfish  to  pass  off  your  disability  upon  your 
friends  without  asking  them  anything  about  it?  " 

*'  Well,"  said  I,  "it  may  be  that  if  this  affair  were 


242  A  BORROWED  MONTH. 

viewed  from  a  purely  moral  stand-point,  there  was  a 
certain  degree  of  selfishness  about  it,  and  it  ought  to 
have  turned  out  all  wrong  for  me.  But  we  live  in  a 
real  world,  my  dear,  and  it  turned  out  all  right." 


Novels  and  Short  Stories  by 

FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers,   New    York 


*'  /  have  been  reading-  htm  now  a  good  many  years,  with  an  increasing  pleas- 
ure which  his  constant  public  seems  to  share,  and  1  am  more  and  more  certain  I 
that  our  literature  does  not  knorv  a  more  original  or  originative  spirit.     Every-  ' 
thing  that  he  has  done  reveals  his  authority.      I  doubt  //  any  author  of  our  tinta  » 
Stamps  his  personality  so  distinctly  on  his  work  "  —  William  Dean  HowBia,s  I 


A  NEiy  LO^E  STORY 

THE  GIRL  AT  COBHURST 

l2mo.     $1.50. 

Like  "Captain  Horn"  and  "The  Late  Mrs.  Null,"  this  novel  has  nc/ 
appeared  serially,  and  the  ingenious  surprises  of  its  unfolding  plot  are  the 
fresher  for  this  reason.  Its  scene  is  a  little  country  village,  to  which  come 
the  hero  of  the  tale  and  his  sister ;  and  the  French  cook  (widow  ot  an 
"artist")  and  the  crotchety,  match-making  old  maid,  whose  simultaneous 
endeavors  to  lead  the  hero's  affections  in  opposite  path,  produce  some 
truly  Stocktonian  intricacies,  are  creations  which  could  have  come  from 
no  other  pen  than  the  author's.  As  Mr.  Howeils  has  well  said,  "Of  hb 
kind  he  is  the  first  and  only." 

A  STORY  TELLER'S  PACK 

**/n  this  book  there  ts  not  one  disappointment,** 
Illustrated.     i2mo.    $1.50. 

"Turn  where  we  will  in  these  admirably  written  tales,  we  find  cause  loi 
praise." — London  Literary  World. 

"  Here  :s  that  quizzical  vein  of  serious  humor,  that  droll  inventiveness  01 
incident,  and  that  adroit  suggestion  of  character  which  are  prominent  charac- 
teristics of  Mr.  Stockton's  books."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  His  gift  is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  which  has  yet  appeared  in  our 
literature.  The  fact  that  it  is  humorous  and  light  must  not  make  us  oblivious 
of  its  original  quality.  This  volume  is  handsomely  made,  with  numerous 
iUu.«;trations  from  well-known  hands,  and  a  very  taking  cover."  —  The  Outlook, 


NOVELS   AND   SHORT  STORIES   BY  FRANK   R.   STOCKTON 


"  Of  Mr.  Stockton's  stories  what  is  there  to  say  but  thai  they  are  aH 
universal  blessing  and  delight  ?  " 


Two  Companion  Novels  of  Adventure 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN   HORN 

"  /y  a  better  story  0/  adventure  has  been  written  0/  late,  I  want  to  know  tht 
name  of  it." 

i2mo.     $1.50. 

"There  is  no  more  thoroughly  entertaining  writer  before  the  public  to-day  than  Mr. 
Stockton.     He  writes  to  amuse,  and  he  succeeds  admirably."  —  Boston  Globe. 

"Mr.  Stockton  has  touched  the  high-water  mark  of  romantic  fiction  and  has  shown  his 
power  to  grasp  the  magic  of  Defoe  and  Sic\Gason."  —  London  Speaker. 

MRS.   CLIFFS  YACHT 

**  Mr.  Stockton  is  at  his  best  in  this  story  0/  land  and  sea."  —  Thh  Indepbndent. 

Illustrated.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"  Those  who  remember '  The  Adventures  of  Captain  Horn,'  and  all  who  read  the  book 
will  remember  it,  have  reason  to  thank  Mr.  Frank  Stockton  that  he  has  not  left  them  in 
suspense  regarding  the  disposition  of  so  much  of  the  great  treasure  as  fell  to  the  share 
of  Mrs.  Cliff  and  of  the  Peruvian  Government.  '  Mrs.  Cliff's  Yacht'  is  the  title  of  this 
sequel,  and  the  wit  and  insight  into  human  nature  which  the  first  part  of  the  book  shows 
makes  a  happy  complement  to  the  stirring  adventure  which  occupies  the  last  part,  when 
the  fate  of  the  Peruvian  treasure  is  mmted."  —  Atlantic  Monthly. 


A  New  and  Cheaper  Edition  of  Two  Famous  Books. 

In  uniform  style,  illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost.    Each  i2mo,  $1.50. 
POMONA'S  TRAVELS 

/4  Series  of  Letters  to  the  Mistress  ofT{udder  Grange  from  her 
Former  Handmaiden 

"  An  attractive  reprint  is  '  Pomona's  Travels,'  by  Mr.  Frank  R.  Stockton,  whose  name 
alone  carries  a  laugh  with  it.  There  is  humor,  also,  in  the  delightful  pictures  by  A.  B. 
Frost,  which  have  almost  as  much  character  as  the  story.  The  cover  in  buff  and  green, 
relieved  with  a  touch  of  black,  is  very  attractive;  and  as  the  work  itself  is  one  of  the 
happiest  things  that  even  Mr.  Stockton's  fancy  has  conceived,  everything  makes  for  its 
success." —  The  Dial. 

RUDDER  GRANGE 

"  Of  all  Stockton's  Inimitable  books  this  has  always  been  regarded  as  the  best."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  most  attractive  new  edition  in  a  charming  binding.  .  .  .  Pomona  is  just  as  funny 
on  re-reading  as  on  first  acquaintance,  and  the  book  will  not  only  make  new  friends  in  its 
new  dress,  but  reclaim  old  ones  as  well."  -   The  Interior. 

"  If  there  is  any  one  who  has  never  read  Stockton's  '  Rudder  Grange,*  he  should  be 
advised  of  the  new  edition  of  that  inimitable  story  which  has  just  been  put  out,  and  those 
who  have  worn  out  their  old  copies  through  much  handling  will  also  be  lucky  to  take 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  "       Chicago  Record. 


NOVELS  AND  SHORT  STORIES  BY  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 


CONCERNING  MR.  STOCKTON'S  STORIES. 

"  Mr.  Stockton,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  recent  writer,  has  helped  to  define 
the  peculiar  virtues  of  the  short  story.  He  has  shown  how  possible  it  is  to  use 
surprise  as  an  eft'ective  element,  and  to  make  the  turn  of  a  story  rather  than  the 
crisis  of  a  plot  account  for  everything.  It  may  be  said  in  general  that  Mr. 
Stockton  does  not  rely  often  upon  a  sudden  reversal  at  the  end  of  a  story  to  cap- 
ture the  reader,  but  gives  him  a  whimsey  or  caprice  to  enjoy  ;  while  he  works 
out  the  details  in  a  succession  of  amusing  turns." — The  'Atlantic  Monthly. 


New  Uniform  Edition  of  the  following  Volumes  : 

THE  WATCHMAKER'S   WIFE 

And  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

"  His  stories  are  characterized  by  the  oddity  and  drollery  which  distinguish 
Mr.  Stockton's  from  that  of  the  ordinary  humorists." 

— Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

THE  LATE  MRS.  NULL 

i2mo,  $1.25. 

"We  can  assure  prospective  readers  that  their  only  regret  after  finishing  the 
book  will  be  that  never  again  can  they  hope  for  the  pleasure  of  reading  it  for  the 
first  time."— TTif'  Critic. 

RUDDER  GRANGE 

12mo,  paper,  60  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

^  "  Humor  like  this  is  perennial."— lf^ajAm^/o»  Post. 

THE  RUDDER  GRANGERS   ABROAD 

And  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  It  will  be  eagerly  sought  by  all  old  friends  of  Pomona  and  Jonas  and  the  other 
characters  who  have  so  delighted  the  numberless  readers  of '  Rudder  Grange.'  " 

—  The  Outlook. 

THE  LADY,  OR  THE  TIGER? 

And  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  His  unique  stories  always  hit  the  mark.  But  'The  Lady,  or  the  Tiger?'  was 
a  shaft  condensed  from  the  entire  Stocktonese."— Grw/wry  Magazine. 

THE   CHRISTMAS  WRECK 

And  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  With  the  charm  of  a  most  delicate  humor,  his  stories  become  irresistibly  at- 
tractive."— Philadelphia  Times. 


NOVELS  AND  SHORT  STORIES  BY  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 

THE  BEEMAN  OF  ORN 

And  Other  Fanciful  Tales.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

"  It  would  be  idle  to  describe  the  fanciful  humor  of  these  stories.    To  read  them 
is  simple  recreation." — London  Athenceum. 

AMOS    KILBRIGHT 

His  Adscititious  Experiences.     With  Other  Stories.      i2mo,  paper, 
50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  A  collection  of  inimitable  tales.    The  writer's  whimsical  humor  and  inventive 
genius  find  fitting  scope  in  the  title  story." — Boston  Commonwealth, 

ARDIS   CLAVERDEN 

i2mo,  $1.25. 
"A  very  pretty  story,  tender,  and  full  of  gentle  huraov."— Philadelphia  Press, 

*jt*  The  set^  nine  volumes^  ismo^  $ij._$o. 


Mr.  STOCKTON'S  Books  For  The  Young 

"  His  books  for  boys  and  girls  are  classics." — Newark  Advertiser, 

THE  CLOCKS  OF  RONDAINE,  and  Other  Stories.  With 
24  illustrations  by  Blashfield,  Rogers,  Beard,  and  others. 
Square  8vo,  $1.50. 

PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED.  Illustrated  by  Pennell,  Par- 
sons, and  others.     Square  8vo,  $2.00. 

THE  STORY  OF  VITEAU.    Illustrated  by  R.  B.  Birch.    i2mo. 

$1.50. 

A  JOLLY  FELLOWSHIP.    With  20  illustrations.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

THE    FLOATING   PRINCE   AND  OTHER    FAIRY  TALES. 

Illustrated.     Square  8vo,  $1.50. 

THE  TING-A-LING  TALES.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  $1.00. 

ROUNDABOUT  RAMBLES  IN  LANDS  OF  FACT  AND 
FICTION.     Illustrated.     Square  Svo,  $1.50. 

TALES  OUT  OF  SCHOOL.  With  nearly  200  illustrations 
Square  Svo,  $1.50. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  153-157  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


Renewed  boo^aresubjectto^ 


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